The Cry of The Wild
by happinesstrap
Summary: Her brother, a tyrannous king, forces Clary to marry the King of Idris (the Lord of the Barbarians). She's heard the rumors about him, and is prepared to fear him as she did her brother. However, when she gets to know her new husband, will she allow herself to fall in love, or continue to refuse her heart? Will he get her see herself as he does, to realize her potential and power?
1. Chapter 1 (Dear Brother of Mine)

**The Cry of the Wild.**

 **Dear Brother of Mine**

 **(CHAPTER 1)**

 **I'm super-pumped for this story and I'm really sorry that I haven't been updating for the Devil Loves Me, Loves Me Not, but I'm really stuck on that particular story and I needed to post this story because why not.** **I needed to write, but not that story, but I promise I will update somewhere in the future.**

 **This is sort of set back in the medieval times, maybe a little bit more backward, but I'm pretty sure it's accurate.**

 **I'm using the language 'Afrikaans' for this story, and I used Google Translate. Sue me. No, it's a seriously cool language that you should definitely look up.**

 **This is sort of based off Game of Thrones, but not really. I'm just taking the 'arranged marriage' and the 'abusive brother' perspective of it. I seriously love that TV show though. You guys should watch it.**

 **I really hope you guys enjoy and love it, so if you do, please review and tell me what I could improve on!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1.**

 **-Clary-**

Daylight, rich and dark, chose to rear it's glowing head in the direction of Alicante. Sunlight splayed across the green of the grass, buttering the scene in a hazy, golden spread. However, despite the beauty that nature had offered, Clary could barely feel the fierce sun as it beat relentlessly on her back.

She stared out towards the village, a little gathering of rural houses and stores. It was close enough, but to Clary, it seemed like some untouchable faraway dream. She would give anything to walk though the streets, to walk unnoticed amongst the villagers. To live simply in a small house, to milk the cows and feed the chickens. It was a wish that seemed all too implausible; something that danced tantalizingly out of reach. Clary had never even been outside the castle walls, except for when her father would take her out when she was younger.

A breeze swept through the air, sliding through the curls of her hair. She closed her eyes, soaking in the sunlight. If her brother had his say, which he always did, she would be back inside before too long. It was not a good idea to make Jonathon mad, for he was unmerciful and would kill anyone who opposed him. He was usually quick to anger; the scars on her arms and shoulders proved that indefinitely.

She had stood still for far too long; the muscles in her back and legs were beginning to ache. However, she barely noticed it as she continued to stare into the mist that floundered the summits in the West Mountains. She wished for a different life, a different time; a world where she was not forced to live under her brother's tyrannous rule.

"Ah! There you are, Clarissa!" Her brother's familiar voice was evident in her ears. _Clary,_ she corrected in her head. However, she did not dare speak out loud. She turned her head, Jonathon strolling towards her with an air of confidence and superiority that followed him like a bad smell.

Her brother, tall, pale and regal, strode towards her with a familiar crown placed on top of his white-blonde hair. He looked smug, green eyes glistening; he seemed happy enough, which was good news for Clary and the rest of the kingdom.

"Good morning, Jonathon," she said quietly; her eyes avoided him, intimidated by his cold stare and menacing eyes. It had been like this ever since her father had died. Her being afraid of Jonathon, always, all the time. Fear of him pressing down on her, until she felt like she couldn't speak, couldn't breathe.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, casually enough, but there was an agenda behind it. With Jonathon, there always was. Besides, he was never nice to her anyways; at least, not unintentionally.

"Fine," she said coolly, feeling small and insignificant beside him.

He then gave her a charming smile; the one that managed to charm even the coldest women to his bed. "It's normal for brides to feel nerves before their big day."

Clary gritted her teeth. "I'm not feeling nervous." This was a complete lie; she was anything but calm. She was terrified at the prospect of even meeting her future husband, but marrying him? Her last few nights of sleep had been restless and she had spent most of it tossing and turning. What if he was cruel? If he were to hurt her? Mistreat her, or abuse her in some way? She wasn't even even sure who she was marrying; Jonathon had vaguely said that he was a local king, but nothing more.

He smiled at her, his teeth more like fangs than anything else. "I would hope your new husband is more tolerable of your lies, Clarissa, or you will be a very sorry wife indeed." Clary could not help but feel a familiar shiver of panic slide down her spine. God, what was wrong with her? Why did she have to feel afraid all the time?

She felt as if it were a illness; one that slowly poisoned her from the inside, that consumed her body until she was nothing more than a meek, twisted creature warped under her brother's influence.

"I do not wish to marry this man," Clary said, in a bold moment of unthinking rashness. She stared ahead, not daring to look at her brother. Suddenly, she feared that she had angered him, and waited for the strike of his hand. However, when it didn't come, she looked cautiously at her brother, only to see him with a slight smile on his lips.

He gazed out towards the land with a slightly alarming amount of possessiveness in his eyes. "I hear he is very handsome," he said bemusedly. Clary felt something like anger gather in her stomach; how dare he think her so shallow?

"I don't care if he is Adonis himself," she seethed. "I don't want to marry him. I don't want to marry anybody." There was an underlying current of fight still left in her voice; one that would not allow her brother to walk all over her.

He raised an eyebrow. "You would be a Queen," he mused, as if the idea was entertaining to him.

"I don't want to be a Queen," Clary retorted.

Silence again. It unnerved her.

"You understand why you are to marry him." It wasn't a question.

Clary's eyes followed a raven as it flew across the sky. "To seal an alliance between our two kingdoms."

"Clever girl," he grinned wickedly. Clary said nothing. Jonathon braced his hands against the sidewalk wall, his large hands splayed across the brick turrets.

"Political marriages form the best sort of alliances, Clarissa," Jonathon murmured. "You play a very important part in this, don't forget that."

"In what?" Clary asked, confused by her brother's words.

He ignored her, and continued to speak. "We are a powerful kingdom, little sister. Despite our dear father's pathetic rule,"-Clary clenched her jaw, pushing down on her anger- "I have managed to save us from his idiocy, but barely just."

"Father was a kind man, and a good king," Clary protested angrily. She didn't care what Jonathon said about her but he wasn't allowed to insult her father.

Jonathon snorted. "He was foolish, an weak man gone mad in his old age." Clary said nothing; her father was the world to her. She knew the reason for Jonathon's hostility towards their father, and how he continued to hate her for it.

Her father had always loved her more. He saw the darkness and greed in Jonathon's black heart, even as a child. Valentine, as he was known, had adored Clary as she did him. He didn't hate her for killing her mother, his wife, when she slid out of her. Her brother did, and never let her forget it.

"Power is everything, Clarissa. You control the power, you control everything. And I intend to control it all," Jonathon said, flexing his shoulders.

"So what do I have to do with it?" Clary questioned.

"You know that when two kingdoms form an alliance, there is usually an exchange of gifts? To help unify the bond?"

Clary nodded slowly.

"Your purpose is to serve as our gift to our new allies; a present for the new king. Marriages in alliances help form a more stable bridge, little sister. The king needs a wife, and the princess of Alicante needs a husband." He grinned broadly at her.

"And what has he promised you in return?"

"Hunting land and a hundred of his best men," Jonathon said, looking smug as if he had snagged a great bargain. "Of course, I have spoken with my advisors, and they see great advantages in this marriage."

"And everything but my say in it," Clary said bitterly. She decided that she would rather pull out all of her fingernails, one by one, than marry any man that Jonathon decided was fit for her.

"Clarissa, your opinion on anything was cast out of the window a long time ago. There are other reasons, of course. We have been at war with the Idrisians for far too long. It was minor conflicts at first, skirmishes and such at the boarder. However, last week, a party of our men were found at in a river." His eyes darkened. "Their heads were cut off and mounted on spears."

"Wait, what?" Clary whirled on her brother. "Idrisians?" She shrieked, feeling light-headed. "I'm marrying-!"

"The King of Idris. The Lord of the barbarians. _Die koninkryk van Idris,_ in their language." He smiled sadistically, tilting his head to the side. The rubies in his crown glittered in the late evening sun.

"You said I was going to wed a local king!" Clary hissed, anger writhing inside of her. She had never felt so angry in her life; it was suddenly alive, a physical object that _thrived_ , that was pulsating _anger_ , and hate and everything else-

"I lied." Jonathon said flatly. "This is necessary-"

"Necessary?" Clary snarled, her hands curling into fists. The Idrisians were vicious, vile men who burned down villages and killed men, women and children without even a second thought. Even the thought of marrying a barbarian was terrifying, but the man who ruled them? "I'm your sister, Jonathon! Not a horse you can auction off to the highest bidder!"

Jonathon no longer looked amused, or even bored. His eyes were narrowed into slits, and his mouth was in a thin line. He grabbed Clary's upper arm in a tight grip, his nails digging into her skin. She swallows back a yelp, setting her jaw as the pain kicks in. "You are testing my patience, Clarissa. And you know happens when I get mad," Jonathon growled, tightening his grip. Clary winced as he broke the skin, a sharp pain erupting in her bicep.

"Jonathon," she said as calmly as she could manage, "you're hurting me-"

"Shut up, you stupid bitch!" He snarled, green eyes looking alarmingly black. Clary shrank back, trying to pull her arm out of his grasp; it was like being stuck in an iron trap. "You will marry this man, and you will make him the happiest husband in the world or die trying!"

Clary blinked back tears, trying not to scream at the unfairness of it all. " _Please_ , Jonathon, he's a barbarian, they kill hundreds of people-"

"I don't care if he's killed Raziel himself. I would gladly whore you to all of Idris, little sister, if it meant I would get even half-a-dozen pieces of silver for it," he said, almost serenely, smiling devilishly. Clary felt hurt at his words; he had said things like this before, but it did not take the sting away.

Clary stayed silent.

 _I hate you, I hate you._

"Now," he said, releasing her arm, his dark demeanor transforming back into light. "We're leaving tomorrow at first light, so make sure you wake before the sun rises. We have quite the journey before us, so get plenty of beauty sleep."

He strode away, until he was nothing but a blotch in the darkening light.

Clary stared down at her arm, watching the rivets of blood pouring down her pale skin. Her heart was thumping in her chest, her hands trembling with fear. Her stomach was churning with worry and fear of the unknown.

She didn't want to marry the King of Idris.

She didn't want to marry anybody.

Clutching a hand around her bleeding arm, she gathered her thoughts and ran away to the safe sanctuary of her room.

* * *

Wincing, Clary attempted to pull her arm away as warm water made contact with her wound. Bryta, her busty, middle-aged nurse, tsked as she dabbed Clary's injury again with a cloth.

Bryta had been her nurse for as long as Clary could remember; she had also raised both her grandfather and father. Jonathon may be the king, but Bryta was the most respectable and influential person in the castle. Clary suspected that even Jonathon was sometimes afraid of her.

Clary loved Bryta like she loved her father; the unconditional sort of love. Bryta had acted as her mother for when Clary's real mother was no longer. Bryta regarded her as her own child, and adored her as such. She was always there, warm and real and soft, when Clary needed her most. Bryta herself had never married and never had any children of her own.

"Your brother has quite the temper," Bryta grumbled as she fussed around Clary with the tenderness a mother might hold. "Perhaps I should give him a piece of my mind."

"Bryta, please don't," Clary begged, "I couldn't bear it if he hurt you." Just the idea of it was enough to send Clary into a panic.

Bryta sighed, rubbing some soothing herbal salve onto her wound. "He is as cruel as he is fair, but to hurt his own sister? The angels would frown upon him, if they were not scared of his wrath."

"You're used it, Bryta," Clary said quietly. "This is not the first scar he has bore upon me."

"It does not make it any easier." Bryta was not one to cry, but she sounded close to it. She finished bounding the injury, and let Clary's arm go. It fell back to her side, where it ached but less than before.

"Does it hurt?" Bryta asked, concerned.

"A little, but it hurts less than before."

"I'm so sorry, my dear girl, that you have to endure such malice in your life," Bryta said sadly, stroking her hair in a way that was motherly and comforting.

"There are others that are worse off, I am sure," Clary assured her. And she was right; there were suffered more than she did.

"Your brother calls you weak, however I know nothing but the strong, resilient girl in front of me."

Clary just smiled, knowing that it wasn't true but made her feel a bit better. Bryta always did.

Bryta started cleaning up, Clary assisting her. She didn't believe in the separation of classes, and found Jonathon to be cruel for whipping any disobedient servants. They started packing for the journey ahead, filing up Clary's dusty old luggage that was barely used.

"What has Jonathon told you of your new husband, Clary?" Bryta asked as she folded Clary's clothes into a bag. Clary didn't answer at first, and continued to pack her shoes.

"He is not who I thought he was," Clary said, staring really hard at the slight cuff on the sole of her shoe.

Bryta raised an eyebrow. "How?"

Clary shrugged. "Just that he wasn't who I expected him to be."

" _Clarissa_ ," Bryta in a warning voice. She never used her full name.

"He is the king of Idris," Clary said quickly, fear striking her heart. Bryta, a sturdy women with a heart of steel, gasped, a hand clutching her heart.

"The king of Idris? The barbarian lord?"

Clary nodded fearfully.

"How could Jonathon do this? How could he do this to you?" Bryta hissed, slamming a dress down with anger.

Clary barked out a cold laugh. "We both know that Jonathon does not care for me, or even care what happens to me."

"They are murderers and thieves! Clary, those people are uncivilized, primitive monsters who will kill anybody without even a blink of the eye. I was told tales by my mother of them, large men on horseback who would raid villages, rape the women, kill the men and children and burn the kingdoms down as they stole their riches!"

Clary felt another stab of fear in her stomach. "Bryta, I was told the same tales that you were. You must remember Jonathon telling them as a child in order to scare me."

"How your father scolded him so." Clary smiled at the faint memory; like most recollections of her father, they were faint reminders that she often had to chase around her mind to remember.

"I'm afraid of him," Clary whispered. Fear was nothing new to her, yet this was an entirely new feeling.

"As you should be. Savages have no place in our world," Bryta sounded scorned as she scowled off into the distance.

"Bryta, I am to be his wife! I am expected to lay in bed with him, to attend to him when necessary, and I haven't even met him once."

Bryta grabbed her hands and held them tight. "Listen very carefully, my dear. _You will survive this_. If anybody in the world can live through this, it is you. You have something that most people can't even comprehend; you have the spirit of fire, and a heart as big as the god's heath. You will become a queen; granted, it is of the barbarians, but you are now an equal to Jonathon.

"You are your father's daughter, your mother's child and their blood runs in your veins. And I could not be more proud of you."

Clary flung herself at her beloved nurse, into the familiar warmth of her arms.

"Thank you," she said softly, burrowing her face into the familiar silver-tinted brown locks of her nurse. "I feel a lot better."

Bryta smiled, suddenly looking worn in the soft candlelight. "I shall send for your dinner, my girl. You shall not have to face your brother tonight."

Clary squeezed her arm in way of appreciation. "I owe you so. I can't believe that I am to leave you tomorrow." It was deeply upsetting to leave Bryta, to leave her one constant companion, who had always been there for her.

"We will meet again, my child. I am sure of it. I will attend to your dinner now. " She left then, to leave Clary to her own thoughts.

She stared into the flickering fire, watching the dying embers glow a vicious red. All she could see was a dozen different men's faces in the hearth, all changing as each took the form of her future husband.

* * *

 **So? What did you guys think? Please let me know!**

 **Review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	2. Chapter 2 (The Silence That Ensures)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 2. The Silence That Ensured**

 **Hey everybody! Here's chapter 2 of The Cry of The Wild! I worked super hard on this and I hope you guys all really enjoy.**

 **WeirdAce (I don't know if that's you correct username, I'm sorry if it's not), I'm really sorry about not updating for The Devil Loves Me, Loves Me Not, but I'm really stuck on that. I'm super sorry, but I promise I will try update as soon as I can. :)**

 **Anyways, I hope you like this chapter. I feel like it's a bit boring, but here's hoping it's not.**

 **Read and review, like always!**

 **Thank you!**

 **...**

 **THIS IS UPDATED VERSION!**

* * *

 **Chapter 2.**

 **-Clary-**

Clary felt like she had barely laid down in her bed before being shaken awake by the urgent whispers of an insistent, grim-faced Bryta. Her vision was edged with blurriness, and her thoughts were slow and sluggish. She felt heavy and stupid as she blinked the sleep out of her eyes. It was with sheer persistence that she managed to stumble out of her bed, yawning viciously as she did so.

She was too tired to think, to feel, to do anything really; especially about how in only a few hours, she would take part in a much unwanted wedding.

"Come on, Clary," Bryta urged frantically, her strong hands gripping Clary's forearms. "I've drawn a hot bath. His Grace awaits you." Clary was shoved into her bathing tub by another maid, where she stripped and quickly jumped in; she welcomed the scalding water, painful as it was. She still felt though she was asleep, and this was all part of a dream.

Sadly, it was not.

Bryta then bustled in with her usual no-nonsense look on her face. She carried a basket of soaps and herbal essences, and ordered Clary to start soaking her hair.

For the next few minutes, Clary was scrubbed raw by the rough edges of a sponge cloth, smelling like a basket of lavender. Her hair was washed thoroughly by Bryta's thick fingers, weaving in and out of her locks like a well-oiled cannon. After washing her body, she was forced into a silky dress which ended at her ankles. Bryta's face cast a shadow, sadness filling her brown eyes.

"That was your mother's wedding dress," Bryta said in a quiet voice. "You look exactly like her. I just wish that it wasn't in such an unhappy circumstances." Clary looked down and blinked, forcing down her tears. The dress really was beautiful, a darkened gold with a tiny straps making up the sleeves. There was a cross-crossing pattern that started at her collar-bone, and the gown billowed out in soft ripples.

But Bryta was right. It was under such a dire time that this dress was being worn.

However, she still felt a connection she felt with her dead mother, whom she had never once met in her life.

Bryta pushed her into her vanity chair, where Clary was primed and tweaked by two maids until she was faultless. Clary, though she looked nice, didn't look like herself. She was supposed to a glowing bride, gushing at the prospect of marrying of the love of her life.

She swallowed, looking down at her hands.

She had never felt so little in her life.

She was forever unhappy with her appearance; small, childish and an unsettling pair of features. Her mother was from the West, Clary's father's kingdom being South. The people of the West were far more prone to red hair and green eyes, as they were the first peoples of the land. They were also known as the _primum poli_ in her language.

However, they were a dying race, and before her death, Clary's mother was one of the few left. The last Daughter of the First Folk.

"Clary?" She looked up to see Bryta, suitcases in each hand. "It's time to go." Clary nodded mutely, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. She took a suitcase from Bryta, before following behind her like a lost child. The hallway was silent, and the usual servants were elsewhere. They walked down the stairs together, not speaking. There were no words needed.

When they had finally reached the doors, Bryta grabbed Clary's hand. "Wait," she whispered. "Just a moment. Not in front of them." Clary understood, setting her bag down.

Bryta looked miserable, as a mother would the day she lost her child. Clary grabbed her, pulling her in close. She realized that this may be the last time she would ever see her beloved nurse.

"I'm sorry, Bryta," Clary whispered, shaking from unshed tears. Bryta was warmth and home and smelt like the familiar scent of cinnamon and herbs. "I'm sorry I have to leave you."

"I know, my dear," Bryta said sadly. "But all good things must come to an end."

"But not now. Not so soon." Clary felt tears start to form behind her eyes. "Ive already lost father; I can't lose you either."

"And you will not," Bryta said firmly, all the fight fierce in her voice. "Whether I am there or not, I will always be there with you, wherever you go." She pressed something into Clary's hand, something cold and metallic. She looked down to see a pretty necklace, with fine gold string and a family crest. "This was your mother's." Bryta smiled down fondly at her. "She told me to give this to you when you were to be married."

Clary looked down. "I don't recognize this family crest," she said, squinting down at it. "Who does it belong to?"

"Your mother's family."

"The Fairchilds?" Clary asked, a spark of recognition igniting within her.

"Yes. A grand family, withered by years of age and desolation. You don't see this crest much these days." Clary attached it around her neck, letting it rest against her collarbone. It really was beautiful; the crest was made of silver, with a emblem of an eagle and a stag. A coat of arms decorated the seal; Clary traced it with her finger.

"The motto of their family was _igni ferro fortiter nos turbo impositum_ ," Bryta murmured, grasping Clary's tiny hand in her own large ones.

"With fire, with steel, with might, we ride through the storm," Clary said, her Latin proving strong. "I love it. It's beautiful," she managed a smile. Just for Bryta. Her nurse gave her once last hug, before stepping back and collecting her suitcase.

"Are you ready?" She said, attempting a watery smile.

"No," she whispered, as Bryta shouldered the doors open that had always been forbidden to her. She had never really seen the front grounds of the castle before as Jonathon was worried that she would escape.

It looked like how she had seen it from far away, from the top of the turrets. The garden was blooming from the long summer days, the tall trees stood dark and silent in the early morning. The sun was a brilliant rose-red, stretched across Dawn's body. The castle gates stood tall, gleaming ivory and white brick. Guards stood stoically at their posts in crisp uniforms.

At the foot of the stairs stood her brother, dressed ceremonial robes of gold silk. She matched him, in both color and material. With him lay his greasy advisor Hodge, a middle-aged man with a raven named Hugo who followed him everywhere. A hearth band, a group of soldiers and warriors, also stood by them. A few royal carriages were seated with horses and saddlers as well.

"My dear sister!" Jonathon exclaimed, playing the part of the compassionate brother as always. _Lies, lies, lies_ , Clary thought. "You look wonderful! Fit to be any king's bride!" Bryta's grip on her Clary's arm tightened as they carefully navigated down the stairs. Bryta let go of Clary, and she walked down towards the collection of men, suitcases clasped firmly in her hand. A few serving men rushed forward to take them from her. Jonathon embraced her, kissing her on each cheek. Clary's jaw clenched as her bother touched her.

Fear, always. All the time.

His lips were at her ear. "You better be on your best behavior today, Clarissa. Or your wedding night will not be the most painful thing that happens to you today," he whispered; Clary could sense his grin on his face. "I hear their wives are often beaten blue and black. Most of them don't even make it past motherhood." Clary refused to shiver, but she still felt panic start to bubble in her stomach. He then guided her to a carriage, where she was sat down. She looked back to see Bryta, who's face was contorted in pain as she waved goodbye. Clary felt tears running down her face as she cried silently, her shoulders shaking as she said goodbye to the one person on earth she loved.

Jonathon joined her, looking pleased with himself. He saw Clary's tears, her bright eyes shining brightly with tears. His gaze traveled to Bryta, who still continued to cry. "She will be well looked after, Clarissa," he said coolly. "You forget she also raised me."

He had stolen everything from her. Hate writhed in her chest, expanding her heart.

 _Forever and ever._

She turned away from him, settling herself into the plush cushion seats of the carriage. She blew Bryta one more kiss as the horse began to trot away. She could feel another onset of tears, but forced them down.

Jonathon didn't deserve her tears.

However, she could not help but feel a slight tinge of excitement. All her life, she had wanted to explore the world, to see different places. And although she was to be shipped off to marry a barbarian king, she still felt exhilarated as the castle gates opened. She leaned out, breath catching in her throat as the tall gates were finally opened. Like an excited child, she sat in awe as her eyes feasted on the town that she had wanted to see for ages.

The first thing she noticed were the crowds of people who were gathered in the streets, who all watched her as she watched them; in complete awe. She could see herself in their eyes; the stowaway princess who they had not seen for many years.

They were dressed in common clothes, in the clothes that Clary had often seen Bryta and the other servants were. There were children, bare-foot and wild as they ran around their mothers, oblivious to the royalty that rode past them.

Stores and small houses were all cluttered together, from bakeries to bookstores to blacksmiths.

It was exhilarating to Clary. All of it.

"Look at them," Jonathon said, sounding disgusted. "Pathetic."

"They are your people, Jonathon," Clary said, used to the degrading tone he would often take when referring to his subjects. He considered everyone and everything beneath him.

"Grovelers," he said dismissively, "I don't even know why I bother dealing with them."

Clary resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She continued to stare out the window, eyes hungry for the world she had been forbidden to see. Jonathon had insisted that it was for her own safety, but Clary knew better than that.

He believed her to be his property. Like most men, he believed her to be inferior because she was a woman.

She hung her hung, avoiding any sort of eye contact with him.

Eventually, they passed the town, and started to head down a rickety path which was thick with trees and marsh. The road here was bumpy, riddled with stones and small rocks. Clary felt herself jolt up and down, before finally grabbing onto the edge of her seat.

She sighed, staring straight ahead, green trees flashing past in her peripheral vision.

It was going to be a long trip.

* * *

They had stopped for a short break halfway through their journey. They were surrounded by thick yew trees, wildlife and even a lake. Clary had spent most of the trip gazing outside, and when she felt tired, had even dozed off for a bit. She was now kneeling by the lake, washing her face to refresh herself. She had not eaten breakfast, and felt her stomach growling.

They had also passed a few villages on the way, where they had skirted around to avoid raiders, who were common in large parts of the forest.

It was early midday, the sun a glowing oasis in the cloudless blue sky. The air was pleasant and the wind gentle. She rubbed her eyes, careful not to muddy her dress as she shifted her knees. Her beautiful wedding dress shimmered in the sun as the shingles danced in the sunlight.

A shadow cast over her as she looked up and saw a man standing over her. She blinked, and recognized him as a member of her brother's hearth band. His name was Heath, she remembered. He was tall and dark, with broad shoulders and long hair. He held a plate of food with fruit and bread. He held a pitcher of water as well.

"I thought you might be hungry," Heath grunted, handing her the plate of food.

Clary tried to hide her surprise. "Thank you," she said, trying for a small smile. She was thankful for his simple kindness. He grunted, but his azure-blue eyes gleamed slightly, before leaving again to rejoin he brother and a group of men gathered around him. They were laughing and eating as maids and serving men bustled around them.

Clary hunted for shade, before settling down under a tree, eating quietly.

Once she finished, she took of her mother's necklace and examined it more carefully. She noticed that the words were engraved into the band of the crest:

 _With fire, with steel, with might, we ride through the storm._

Suddenly, it was snatched from her. She leapt up, snarling, defensive, ready to fight for it.

It was Jonathon.

He was clutching at the necklace string, looking strangely down at the emblem. Clary felt her heart pounding in her chest. It took all of her control to not snatch it away from him; however, she knew that if she did, she would be punished for her behavior.

She waited, with bated breath. He continued to stare at it, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"This was mother's," he said slowly, as if he was unsure of his emotions. "I recognize the Fairchild family crest."

Clary nodded, her breath quickening as she gripped her dress.

"Bryta gave this to you?" He asked. Clary nodded again, fearful that he would take this from her too.

"I remember mother wearing this as a child," he said suddenly. "She would tell me ancient stories about the Fairchilds, and how they were able to tame wild creatures, even Pegasuses and Sprites." For the first time in forever, he sounded sincere, even slightly vulnerable. "You don't deserve this," he snarled. "You ripped her open when you came out of her, like the little parasite you are."

Clary's lower lip trembled.

He was right. She killed their mother. She didn't deserve it.

It was suddenly tied around her neck again. She stifled a gasp; she had expected him to take it away from her, to yet steal another thing from her.

"Keep it," he said coolly, "your husband with have something pretty to look at besides your face. Get ready, we're leaving." He walked away with another word. Clary clasped it protectively in her hand, breathing out a sigh of relief.

She gathered her things, and hurriedly followed her brother to their carriage. On her way back, she saw Heath, looking at her with dark blue eyes. She turned away from him, before joining Jonathon, who luckily ignored her for the duration for their trip.

She dozed lightly, waking occasionally when the carriage went over a log or bumped over a tree root.

However, as much as she tried to, she could not keep calm. Her nerves increased with every second that passed, her fear eating away at her stomach like a disease. She wasn't ready for this, none of this. She didn't want this, any of it.

She hated Jonathon, and wanted to throw a tantrum like a child and scream and cry about the unfairness of it all. Instead, she let herself stew in silence, her anger simmering.

Yes, her anger was fierce, but his wrath even more so.

Suddenly, the land changed. The earth was much richer, the marsh becoming much denser with the color of the trees darkening. It wasn't just the greenery, but it was also the atmosphere. Clary couldn't explain it, but the area surrounding her felt...alive. The wildlife was humming, almost buzzing with a sort of electricity.

"Do you feel that, little sister?" Jonathon said softly, placing his hands against the wall of the carriage. "The land of the Idrisians is a very spiritual place; they have their own gods, their rituals, nothing like our own. They may be savages, but their culture is most interesting."

"Where am I to marry him?" Clary asked quietly, voice small, herself even more so. She didn't know much about the details of the wedding, just who she was to wed.

Jonathon's mouth twisted so that it was arranged into a smile. "The Idrisians have a sacred wedding ceremony performed at one of their ritual sites. They say a goddess was born there, along with her three siblings who represented the sun, the earth and the sky. We are meeting your future husband at a mutual site, where a benefactor has agreed to host us. Due to our conflicting history, the Idrisian king is reluctant to host us."

Clary looked out the window, gripping the edges of the plush, cushion seat.

Jonathon tilted his head, observing his younger sister. "What do you know of the Idrisians, sweet sister?" He asked her, voice low.

"They ride during the day on the Great Oaisei Road," Clary's voice was barely inaudible. "They travel in a massive hoard, with thousands of warriors and servants and slaves. They raid villages, take their gold and steal the women and children and claim them as slaves."

"Very good, Clarissa," Jonathon smiled at her, a sadistic slash of emotion rippling across his face. "After your marriage, the Barbarian Lord will take you to his bed and consummate the marriage. A virgin's first time is painful, little sister. More, for others. Or at least, that's what I've heard."

Clary ducked her head again, staring blankly down at her pale, freckled hands.

She felt like a child again.

"Go to sleep," Jonathon crooned to her. "When you wake, there will be an entirely new nightmare you'll have to face."

Sleep gripped her in it's cold, numbing claws, flying her away.

* * *

They had finally arrived at Jonathon's benefactor's palace; Clary's brother shook her awake, roughly, hissing in her ear. "Come, little sister," he purred excitedly in her ear, firm hand gripping her bicep painfully. "The King should be here soon to meet with us." Clary blinked, feeling stupid and heavy as she tried to gain her bearings. The carriage doors were flung open, glowing sunlight flooding into the small space.

She covered her eyes, shielding her vision from the burning sun. She stumbled from the carriage, attempting to regain her footing. Awed, she looked around her, observing her surroundings. It was so magnificent that she forgot the heavy fear in her heart for just a brief moment.

They were in a beautiful, exotic city filled with wonders Clary hadn't even dreamt of before. The buildings were made to look like gold glass, the people exotic and beautiful as they milled around in flowing dresses and strange colors painted onto their skin. The grass glowed a healthy gleam, strange, wonderful flowers growing from the ground. "Where are we?" Clary asked her brother, feeling breathless as she took in the world around her.

They were atop a slope, where a huge, palace-like mansion was built. It was white marble, at least five storeys, sculpted so that marble domes and carvings were part of the glittering building.

"We, dear sister, are in the strange cities of Fair Vaarnia," he answered, white-blonde hair gleaming like diamonds in the sun. "And this lovely home belongs to my benefactor, a rich man of enormous wealth. His name is Olyeran Iuo and I would have offered you to him, but you're not exactly what he likes. Besides, your promised to another."

A dark cloud gathered in Clary's mood, dampening her awe at the beautiful city. She bowed her head, her mouth set in a tight line.

"Ah! Speaking of the man!" Jonathon cheered as he swept his robes forward. Hodge was bumbling down the steps, an overweight, middle-aged man following him, wheezing as he ambled down the set of stone steps. There were streaks of grey through his mousy brown hair that indicated age; lines creased at his temples, wrinkling at the corners of his mouth. He was dressed in white silks, with dainty slippers, but he was sweating furiously as he panted, stomach bulging as he did.

He eventually reached the sister-brother pair, flashing them a set of white teeth. "Jonathon Morgenstern!" He crooned, rushing forward to kiss Jonathon on his cheeks. "You look most handsome, my boy!"

Jonathon, as charming as ever, smiled gracefully back at him. "And you, my friend," he said.

Olyeran's eyes traveled to Clary, taking in her silent demeanor and golden gown. "And this," he marveled. "Must be your beautiful sister! Ah, beautiful as you said she was, Jonathon. What are a rare beauty, green eyes and hair as red as fire. She's a Fairchild, alright."

Clarissa curtsied, smiling faintly at the benefactor. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lord," she said to him.

He took her hands, clasping them in his own clammy ones. "And you, my dear. You look exquisite, perfect for any man. Now," he gestured towards his castle, "you must relax for your wedding. Your husband arrives soon, with his horde of Idrisian warriors."

Clary smiled, fake as ever as Jonathon gripped her arm. "My sister should take her rest," he suggested, brotherly concern evident in his voice. "The weddings tonight; she needs to look acceptable for her new husband."

"Yes, yes, of course," Olyeran said, distracted. "But the Idrisian King has sent a few maids to help you prepare for the wedding. There are certain preparations that the new Queen must go through before the ceremony." He turned back to the steps. "Isabelle, dear! The princess has arrived!"

A girl, around Clary's age, stepped through the door. She was tall, graceful, features beautiful and elegant as she descended down the stairs in a way that made Clary jealous. She had inky-black hair that shimmered down her back, high cheekbones and dark eyes that were framed by thick eyelashes. Her skin was pale, clear of any blemishes. She looked fit to be a princess, a queen even, with her slender body and striking features.

However, her clothes were nothing like Clary had ever seen before. They were made of animal furs and horse leather; her eyes were coated with black eye colors, making her look exotic and wild as he reached the group, looking down at Clary, expression impassive.

Two handmaidens followed her, dark-skinned beauties with exotic features dressed in familiar clothes like Isabelle's. Clary could do nothing but stare at them, awed by their slanted eyes, strange clothing and colored skin.

They were so different.

Like nothing she had ever seen before.

But she probably looked equally strange to them; bright red hair, strange green eyes, freckled skin.

Olyeran reached for Isabelle, who looked annoyed at the contact. "Isabelle, my lovely girl, meet the princess of Alicante, Clarissa Morgenstern and her brother the king, Jonathon."

Clary's eyes met Isabelle's; she shrunk away as the hard brown stared back at her.

The Idrisian nodded stiffly at her. The handmaidens acknowledged her with respect. "Now, Isabelle, prepare our dear princess for the ceremony," Olyeran said cheerfully, clasping his chubby hands together. "She must look perfect for the King."

Isabelle nodded, once more, curt as Clary was pushed towards her by Jonathon, stumbling slightly as she did so. Isabelle turned swiftly, barking at the two handmaidens to follow in a language that sounded harsh and strange in Clary's ears.

Clary made to follow, struggling to keep up with Isabelle's brisk pace. They were about to enter the building, when Clary turned around. Jonathon stared back at her; eyes speaking of only one word.

 _Behave._

Clary shivered, turning back around to follow Isabelle though the doors.

* * *

 **What did you think? Please review! I will update quicker if you do!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	3. Chapter 3 (The Burning of the Dragon)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 3. The Burning of the Dragon (UPDATED)  
**

 **Hi everyone! Just to be clear:**

 **JACE IS THE KONING!**

 **JACE IS MOST DEFINITELY THE KONING!**

 **Okay, thank you for all of your amazing reviews! They really cheered me up! I hope you like this chapter, it took me ages to re-edit and write again. I'm not to sure about this, so please tell me what I can fix.**

 **By the way, this will not follow the plot of the GOT! I would literally stop writing before killing Jace off.**

 **Also, Jon and Tyrion are amazing! And Dany and Arya as well!**

 **Okay then! Please read and review!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3. (UPDATED)**

 **-Clary-**

The hallways of Olyeran's palace were rich in wealth and embezzled in beauty and grace. The walls were high and arched with designs of angels and flames carved into the dome-shaped ceiling. A candle-light chandelier hung from top of the room, illuminating the statues, paintings finery decorating the room. Clary, having seen castles and majestic palaces her entire life, was still amazed by the simple grandness of the benefactor's home.

Isabelle seemed none too impressed with Olyeran's home; in fact, she just continued her path, barely even glancing at the finery around her. The two handmaidens flanked her, heads bowed, hands clasped together. Clary struggled to keep up with them, holding up the ends of her long dress to avoid tripping over her own feet.

They traveled down a separate hallway that connected to various rooms. Isabelle continued, strides long as s until she stopped abruptly in front of a room with a dark, oak wood double doors with intricate designs carved into the wood.

Isabelle pushed the doors open, revealing a room bathed in light, decorated in tasteful finery much like the other rooms in the castle.

Clary stepped in, marveled at the four-poster bed, the fine cushions and plush sheets. There was a vanity table situated off to the side, upon which sat perfumes and rouges, brushes and combs.

The curtains were thrown wide open; the view of the city flooded in, a gentle breeze flowing in. Clary could see a sliver of crystal blue sea in the distance.

It was simple, beautiful in a way that Clary wished for.

Isabelle said something to the handmaidens in Idrisian; they nodded, scattering off into the distance. The dark-haired girl turned to Clary, pointing to the vanity table. "Sit," she ordered, pushing her down into a chair.

Clary was surprised; she hadn't expected her to know any of the Common Tongue.

Isabelle unbraided Clary's hair, fingers rough and careless as they worked through her curls. Clary remained silent, wincing slightly as pain tugged at her roots. But she said nothing.

The dark-haired girl rubbed a sweet-smelling oil through Clary's hair, fingers running through, nails slightly scratching her scalp. Isabelle braided her hair once again, but this time wove small bells and dark blue flowers into her braid. It shimmied down her back, the bells ringing as she did so.

Clary admired her hair in the mirror, a faint smile teasing her lips as her braid swung back and forward. "Thank you," she said quietly to Isabelle.

Isabelle nodded, face as hard as ever, but her eyes softened slightly. The two handmaidens returned, handing over a dress to her. Isabelle dismissed the two, who bowed respectfully before heading out. She wandered back over to Clary. "Put this on," Isabelle demanded, shoving the fabric into her arms. It was a see-through slip of fabric that shimmered light colors of rose and yellow.

Clary shrunk back, clutching at her wedding dress, one of the last things she had left of her deceased mother. "No, please. I-I'd prefer to wear this dress."

The girl raised an eyebrow, looking annoyed. "This is our traditional clothing. You think you are below us?" She asked in a huffy tone, sounding accusing.

"No, not at all!" Clary said hastily. "This was my mother's dress," she added, her voice pleading.

The girl's expression softened. "Alright. But I'm not sure if the King would like it."

Clary sighed in relief. "Thank you."

The girl managed a small smile. "Alright, let's get you ready." She got out a collection of small ceramic bowls, all filled with dark paints. Clary looked questioningly at them; she wondered what they were for. "For decoration," the girl said, answering Clary's unspoken question.

"In our culture, we paint our faces to signify special events. Black," she gestured to the ceramic bowl filled with red paint, "is used to represent the earth, and the soil; yellow is for the sun. The red is regarded as life, as the blood that runs through our veins. We have other colors, of course, but those are our primary ones."

"Alright," Clary said, unsure, "so do I just-"

The girl laughed not unkindly, her guard slowly lowering. "You wouldn't know how to. Let me. Close your eyes."

"Okay," Clary said, tipping her head back as she closed her eyes. It felt weird and sticky against her skin, but she kept quiet, allowing Isabelle to trace patterns into her skin.

She stayed like that for a least a few minutes, before the girl's fingers left her face. "I'm finished; you can open your eyes now."

Blinking, she opened her eyes, looking into the mirror, readjusting her vision. She was surprised when she saw herself, red, black and yellow traced along the curve of her cheekbones. Her eyelids were dotted with white, bringing out the bright green in her eyes.

Clary smiled at her reflection. She looked strange, foreign, but in a good way.

Isabelle returned to Clary's side, holding a collection of perfumes. She dotted smells of lavender and vanilla and fruits across her collarbones, her wrists, along her cheekbones until she exuded the smell of a rich noblewoman.

The dark-haired girl continued to busy around her, adding rouge and other colors to her faces. Clary twisted in her seat, staring down at her feet. Though it was fun to play dress-up in the moment, the harsh reality of her life, of the Barbarian Lord who was soon to come and claim her as his own, constantly reminded her of what was awaiting her.

The silence was soon unbearable. Clary refused to dwell in her thoughts anymore; she instead decided to try and coax a conversation from Isabelle.

"You speak the Common Tongue very well," Clary tried as Isabelle brushed away the freckles on her cheeks with a white powder.

Isabelle nodded shortly. "Yes. My mother was fluent and taught me from a young age," she replied.

Silence again.

"Do you know the King very well?" Clary asked, attempting to conjure up and image of what her new husband was like.

"He is like my brother," Isabelle said; something in her hard eyes spoke of affection. "My father knew his, and when our lord father was killed in battle, the former King of Idris took my brother Alec and I into his care."

Clary didn't know what to say. "Oh. I'm so sorry."

Isabelle shook her head. "Do not be. It is a great honor to die in battle, fighting for your King. The widow and children lead great lives, and are respected by other warriors."

Clary looked down at her hands, sombre once again.

There was a hand on her shoulder. She looked up to see Isabelle, concern on her pretty face. "Do not be afraid. The King is a good man, and will treat you well," she said softly; Clary was surprised at her unexpected kindness. The other girl had been cold and distant the entire time; the sudden spout of concern made Clary's stomach feel warm.

Clary was already shaking her head. "Are the stories true, Isabelle?" She asked, fearing the answer. But she already knew it; why did she bother asking?

Isabelle hesitated, as if contemplating her answer. "To some extent, yes."

Clary huffed, drawing her arms around herself. "Then I do have something to fear."

"No, no." Isabelle scowled. "He is a good man. He is fair, but I would not consider crossing him. He is a great warrior, considered one of the best in the land," Isabelle boasted, sounding proud. "He will also stay faithful to you, and not fuck around with other woman."

Clary's cheeks reddened. "Oh, no, I wasn't-"

Isabelle grinned mischievously. "Oh, a virgin. It's unusual to find one around here."

"You aren't pure?" Clary asked, wide eyed. She had been taught from a young age that losing your virtue before marriage was a sin, and made you a harlot. Most of her lessons as a young woman were on keeping her purity for her husband. Isabelle laughed, as if the idea were ridiculous.

"Please. Most of us have lost our virginity since our early adolescence," she snorted. "Definitely including our King." She caught Clary's expression, and looked apologetic. "Sorry. But it's not uncommon. We believe in the simple pleasures of life, and release is one of them."

Clary could still feel the burn in her cheeks. "Women aren't allowed to lay in bed with another man besides their husband, before marriage or even after that. They're imprisoned or exiled if they do."

"It's different here," Isabelle said knowingly, as if she understood. "Women are allowed to explore their desires before even marriage, but after that, they are considered the property of men. That is why I do not marry. Besides, the Koning wouldn't let me; he cares for me too much."

"And the men?" Clary wondered if what Isabelle said was true; if he would indeed stay faithful to her. Not that she felt she would particularly care about her husband's activities. As long as he didn't hurt her.

"Men have their desires, Clary, and sometimes their wives cannot satisfy them. They would usually find their pleasure at the whorehouse. Most of the warriors take a woman after they win a battle."

Clary had only heard this sort of language from her temperamental brother. "Oh."

"Alright." She placed a shimmering, bell chain around Clary's neck, where they clinked Clary's mother's necklace. Adding a pretty diamond circlet to the crown of Clary's head, Isabelle stepped back to admire her.

"Pretty," she said, fixing up her silky black hair. "Very queen-like."

"What is queen in Idrisian?" Clary asked, eager to learn more about the culture.

"Koningin," she said with no difficulty.

"Koningin," Clary tried out, but the words sounded harsh and strangled in her own ears.

"Very nice," Isabelle said, smiling gently, all hostility gone from her voice. "Your a natural. And once you marry the Koning, the Idrisian word for King, you will become his Koningin." Clary felt her pleasure at her newfound discovery of the Idrisian language drop; she suddenly remembered the man who was riding to claim her as his queen.

There was a gentle knock on the door; Clary gathered her wits and rose to her feet, brushing off her dress. Her brother entered, looking grand as Olynern simpered behind him, many chins wobbling as he heaved himself into the room. "Clarissa," Jonathon crooned, sweeping forward. "You look lovely." The words hid his amusement as his eyes took in her appearance, oiled hair and painted face.

"Oh, why yes, my dear! You look simply marvelous!" Olyeran babbled as he clasped his hands together. "Isabelle, you are fantastic."

Isabelle had schooled her features into a cool expression, no indication of warmth or kindness from before. "Thank you my lord. She's prepared for the ceremony. If you will excuse me, I must prepare myself."

She excused herself, leaving the room. Jonathon held out his arm, indicating his will. "Come, dear sister. Let us take a walk in the gardens," Jonathon suggested, but Clary knew it wasn't a request. She bowed her head submissively, taking Jonathon's arm.

Olyern led them to the outside gardens, where the flowers bloomed in the summer sun, the paths paved with cobbles and assorted stones.

Jonathon seemed impatient but listened to Olyeran's ramblings. "When will this Idrisian King arrive?" He asked, frowning as Clary clung to his arm.

"Soon, Your Grace. Then we will wed your lovely sister," Olyeran reassured him, smiling broadly at Jonathon.

Her older brother frowned. "Well, as soon as possible is best," he said. "As soon as Clarissa marries him, the sooner our treaty comes into place."

Clary remained silent.

What did her opinion matter anyway?

Her nerves grew, to an extent where Clary could feel them bubbling in her stomach. She didn't want to marry the Barbarian Lord.

She didn't want to marry anyone.

Suddenly, a horn blew from a far distance. Clary's heart thumped, dreading what was to come. "Ah!" Olyeran exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "The King has arrived!"

No.

Clary couldn't think straight.

No, no, no.

He was here.

"Come along, Clarissa!" Jonathon exclaimed, grabbing her arm. "Your husband awaits you!" She followed him, despondent, allowing him to drag her along. They reached the stairs, where Isabelle, dressed in a lovely silk gown, waited.

The horn continued to blow, a low crooning sound that made Clary's heart beat faster.

But it was positively jumping out of her chest as she heard the sound of hooves, trampling against the ground.

The gates were opened abruptly by two servants; a hoard of horses came flooding in, atop them, dark, muscled men that were both horrifying and fascinating to Clary.

Nearly all were completely topless, just wearing leather pelts and a collection of furs that covered their intimates. Their hair was grown long, dark spirals touching their buttocks.

They were terrifying.

Everything that Bryta had warned her about.

Massive men bred to fight like beasts, bred to kill, broad brutes, wielding sharp weapons and mounting large horses.

And at the head of them; a man, wearing different clothes to the rest of them, black stripes painted down his chest like claw marks, starting from the back of her back, coming down to rest over his collarbones. Wearing similar jewellery to Clary.

Somehow, Clary knew.

Isabelle and Olyeran rushed forward to meet the King. Isabelle spoke to him in rapid Idrisian, words indistinguishable as Olyeran introduced himself.

"Do you see him, little sister?" Jonathon murmured into her ear, hand gripping her arm. "The King of Beasts?"

Clary stared at him, a feeling of terror choking her words, repressing them completely.

Jonathon was right.

He was indeed handsome.

Beautiful, even, with a head of blonde curls that brushed his temples and caressed his neck. Inhuman, golden eyes were dotted in paint, framed by thick, dark lashes. His skin was a honey-brown, tanned and muscled from days in the sun, broken in by endless years of fighting. His face was sharp with high, slanting cheekbones that led to full lips. His chest was on full-display, broad shoulders leading to muscled biceps, forming a narrow waist.

Clary's breath caught in her throat, surprised.

Indeed, he was handsome.

"He's one of the best warriors in the land," he whispered in her ear. She wondered if he could hear her heart, hear the rapid beat of it. "He can tame even the wildest of stallions, wrestle lions and tame wolves. Apparently, he's the fiercest fighter across the Red Sea. He's never been beaten in combat, not once. And," he gripped her arm tightly, "he's fucked more women than any man in Idris." He smiled widely at Clary, titling his head to the side. "Hopefully, you can satisfy his needs. That's what you are there for, dear sister."

Clary could feel tears gather in the corners of her eyes, but she forced them down.

The King's eyes turned to her; she froze under his cold, fierce gaze.

"For God's sake," Jonathon hissed, nails digging into the flesh of her arm. "Stand straight, show him you have breasts at least." Clary forced a smile, straightening her back, head tilted upward.

"Clarissa, dear!" Olyeran called out merrily, waving an arm towards her. "Come meet your new husband!" He and Isabelle looked her expectantly, while the Idrisian horde looked on, silent as ever. Their horses shifted as they whinnied, snorting gently.

Clary couldn't move, couldn't breathe.

"Go on!" Jonathon told her, releasing her arm and pushing her forward none too gently.

Clary's breathing was shallow as she descended down the stairs, feeling light-headed as she struggled to not fall over her own feet. Her harsh, uneven breathing was evident in her own ears. She felt nauseous, her head spinning as she took down the stairs.

It was if the world around her slowed down to the point where nothing moved.

The King's eyes, gold and unforgiving, never strayed from her's.

She eventually reached him; his gaze remained firmly on her. She couldn't read anything from his expression; only the cold and detached set of his mouth. She stood before him, neck craned so that it was looking at the towering figure above the horse.

There he was.

The barbarian lord of Idris, fierce as he was handsome.

They gazed at each other for what felt like an eternity.

Clary felt dizzy, her stomach doing circles around her as his beautiful, caramel-colored eyes bore holes into her head. The world around her faded away as fear, uncertainty and nausea spun in the pit of her heart.

Then, after what felt like a lifetime, he jerked his horse away, barking an order at the Idrisian men. They spurred and rode off with their horses.

Clary let out a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding in.

Jonathon strode down to Olyeran, frowning. "Why did he leave? Didn't he like her?" He asked, seemingly frustrated. Clary shrunk away from him, wrapping her arms around herself, heart still beating frantically.

It didn't feel real.

None of it did.

She let out a shaky breath, sharp and slow.

"Do not concern yourself, Your Grace," Olyeran rushed to comfort Clary's brother. "We are to ride to the the sacred wedding grounds of the Idrisian people. The king will meet us there."

Jonathon nodded, looking much more spirited. "Very well, then. Clarissa, come along," he urged her, pushing her towards the carriage. "Marriage will suit you well, I promise," he muttered into her ear.

Clary felt dread cloud her heart.

* * *

The wind was harsh and violent as it billowed viciously; Clary's hair flew around her face, red curls flowing in the breeze. The sea spat salty water in their direction, evaporating into mist as it trickled down her face. But she barely cared; the loud cheers and persistent pattern of the drums distracted her.

As did her new husband, who sat silently beside her, ignoring her completely.

However, she was glad.

She wanted none of his attention whatsoever.

The scene before her was beautiful, in a terrifying, wild, chaotic sort of way that reminded her of the untamed beasts in the jungles that Bryta had read to her about when she was only a small child.

They were located at the sacred wedding site of the Idrisians; it was a secluded, beautiful sea-side area that was converted by caves and hill slopes that dipped low into the earth. The sand was white and untouched as the ocean breeze whistled across it's surface. The sea, a glittering amass of foamy waves and sparkling rips.

Clary was mesmerized by it all, fascinated by the simple complexity of the area.

As she was by the Idrisians, who danced before her around massive bonfire, bare women clothed in nothing but strips of fabrics, waving their arms around as they chanted songs and swung their hips melodically.

The Idrisians had set up quite the wedding; there were tables stacked with meat and exotic fruits, along with sweets and strange-looking pastries. There were tents strung up around the area, racks where furs and saddles were hung up. A row of men beat on drums, playing instruments Clary had never seen before. At the center of it all, a massive bonfire danced and twisted it's flames in a way that made them look alive.

Clary and her new husband were seated atop a curved pavilion, where carved, stoned steps led up to where they were sitting. Her husband, cold and silent, ignored her and instead stared down at the celebrations before them. Her feet, which barely touched the ground, where dripping blood, gathering a slight puddle of crimson liquid before her feet.

Before the ceremony had started, when Clary and her brother had just arrived, she had been forced to walk across hot coals, which burned like the red eyes of the devil. It was a test of strength, not just for her husband but for his people as well. It was to proof that she would be able to bear children, to bear the king's children, to bear the pain.

Clary could still feel the ringing pain in her feet, each step more painful than the last.

It was complete agony, almost to the point where she thought she would rather die than take another moment of it.

But, she had endured.

She remembered when she had arrived, terrified, small, timid, cowering behind her brother. The red coals had danced before her, shimmering and toxic as they exhaled heat, breathing fire.

The pain was excruciating; it felt like her feet were being dipped into lava.

She remembered looking to her side to see a bored-looking Jonathon, who was sitting to the side on a seat. There were a few Idrisian women attending to him; they were feeding him, stroking his hair. He did look slightly amused, even interested as he observed with dull green eyes.

She had looked forward, knowing she could do this. She would do it for Bryta, the only mother she had ever known. And her parents, whom she loved.

And she did it.

The entire Idrisian horde had cheered for her when she did, throwing their arms up in celebration, whooping wildly to celebrate their new queen.

Even her new husband had looked impressed, something in his hard eyes glinting.

Afterwards, a wizened old man with a staff decorated with bells and wood shackles by the name of Malachi had initiated their ceremony, uttering words in Idrisian; Clary and the Barbarian King had held hands, fingers interlocked with each other as they murmured words, sealing their marriage to one another.

Then, the old man had cut the flesh across Clary's palm with a ceremonial knife, spilling blood from the wound. When at first, she tried to protest, the King had shot her a look, which made her go still. The pain was nothing compared to the hot coals; in fact, the burn in her feet made her numb to the cut in her palm. Malachi had then done the same to the King, who didn't even flinch.

In fact, he looked bored.

Distant.

They had then wound their hands together once again, their blood dribbling down their arms, dripping at their elbows as Clary clumsily recited Idrisian with the help of Malachi who said the words before her.

And now, it was the festivities, where the children laughed and ran around their mothers, dark men drank wine and watched the pretty women dance and the sea battered against the sand as always.

Clary looked down at her hands, small and pale in her lap. The music was persistent in her ears, the rhythmic drumming matching the tempo in her heart.

"Clarissa!" Oleryan's cheerful voice became apparent in her ears. She looked up to see him bumbling towards her, chubby legs straining under his weight. He stopped before the King, bowing deeply as a sign of respect. The Koning nodded, grunting as his eyes returned back to the bonfire.

He lumbered before her, smiling broadly down at her. In his hands, he held a parcel, wrapped in brown packaging. He bowed to Clary, presenting the package to her. "For you, my princess," he said. She tried for a smile, gracefully accepting the package from him. It was in the shape of a book; she carefully peeled the packaging away. A dark green book, faded with age, lay in her lap.

"My princess, this book contains all the information on you mother's family; their linage, your family tree, the First Folk of the Isles," he told her; Clary traced the symbol of House Fairchild, fingers gentle on the aged cover.

"Thank you, Olyeran. Truly, this is a fabulous gift," she sent him a genuine smile that made boyish grin tilt his lips.

He bowed deeply. "Anything for you, my princess," he told her, before retreating to go speak with her brother, who was being held off to the side with some pretty Idrisian women who were stroking his hair and feeding him grapes.

Littered around her were presents, gifts from various people celebrating her wedding to the Koning. There were jewellery from Jonathon, various gifts from Idrisian men and

Something then caught her attention, catching her completely by surprise. An Idrisian man had grabbed a pretty, dark-haired woman by the waist, bending her over so that she was on her hands and knees. He ripped her dress off, before hastily taking out his cock and thrusting into her. Clary watched on, horrified, with wide eyes as the woman moaned with pleasure, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

The man's movements were violent and animalistic; he gave the woman no regard whatsoever as he pushed himself in and out of her.

Clary glanced sideways at her husband, who was looking down at the scene, handsome face impassive. She looked back to the scene before her; would the Koning treat her as such, violently with no regard for her?

She shivered, suddenly overcome with cold and fear.

Isabelle came over to Clary, where she first nodded at the Koning, before settling down next to Clary. "You look scared," the dark-haired girl told her, safe from the Koning's ears.

Clary couldn't take her eyes off from the man who continued to thrust into the girl. "It's just new to me," she told her. "All of it."

It was then that another Idrisian man came up to the pair fucking, and cut the man's throat. Clary flinched, a strangled gasp expelling from her mouth. Isabelle smiled slightly at her response. "An Idrisian wedding with less than two deaths is considered to be dull, a boring event," Isabelle mused. She looked more serious as she glanced at Clary, who's face was ashen, lips pursed together in fear. "It will get easier," her voice was gentle. "I promise."

A rather large Idrisian man then stumbled forward, grabbing two serving women by their arms. They were slaves, Clary noticed, the shackles bound around their necks. He knelt in front of his King, who barely paid him any attention. The man then turned to Clary, who shied away from him.

He said something, in his rich, rough Idrisian words, still gripping the two slave girls roughly by their arms.

Clary stared back at him, lips slightly parted.

"The honorable warrior of Idris brings his new queen a gift," Isabelle translated in English, voice blank.

The man spoke again, harsh eyes never leaving Clary.

"He brings you two handmaidens, slaves that are at your will. They belong to you, now," Isabelle said again. The man grinned at Clary, letting go of the girls. He said something again, sneering as he did.

"And should they misbehave in any way," Isabelle said, voice hard, "he'll be more than happy to deal with them."

The two slaves, around Clary's age, perhaps even younger, were bruised and nervous, looking terrified.

Something in Clary's small, silent heart broke.

She nodded at the man, something like hatred stirring in the pit of her stomach. "Tell him thank you for gifts," she said to Isabelle, eyes never leaving the man.

Isabelle translated; the man bowed once again, leaving them. The two slave girls shuffled forward. Clary offered them a place next to her, where they sat, ever so fearful.

They looked like her.

Scared, of this strange, strange world.

"My name is Clary," she told them softly, a small smile perching on her lips. "And you are?"

The slave girls exchanged looks. "I am Jynei," the first girl, a small, frail thing with dark blue eyes and scuffled brown hair. "And she is Sarna." A rounded, brown-eyed brunette with freckles and sunken cheeks played with her fingers as she averted Clary's gaze.

"It's very nice to meet you both," Clary attempted another weak smile. She felt stupid the moment the words left her mouth. "This is Isabelle," she tried again, motioning at the dark-haired girl sitting stonily next to her.

They looked at her, faces blank.

The three girls lapsed into an awful silence that was only occupied by the drumming and the cheers of the Idrisian men.

It must have been a while until the King suddenly stood, and motioned for Clary to come. She did, the crowd parting to let them through. He finished by a fenced area, holding an array of horses. He led out a beautiful white horse, saddled and looking majestic in the soft firelight. The king handed the reins to her. "The King presents his gift to you," Isabelle told her. "A white horse, fast and strong as she is beautiful."

Clary had guessed by now that he understood little English, but not much.

"Oh," Clary said softly. It was intended as a gift. "Thank you, she's beautiful."

The Koning nodded, eyes making her knees feel weak.

Clary had guessed by now that he understood very little English. A stableman walked forward, taking her horse from her. Clary let out a squeal of surprise as she suddenly felt strong, hard arms lift her up so that she was nestled against the King's hard chest. She looked up to see the Koning, clutching her to his chest. She started to squirm, to push him away. He shook his head. "No," he said in his thick Idrisian accent.

"The King must carry through through sacred ground to his bed for the consummating," Isabelle explained, voice sombre.

 _To bed._ She stilled instantly. Fear once again struck her heart.

He may have been rough and big, but he held her gently, like she was glass. She couldn't help but want to lean against his warm chest. However, she tried to put as much distance as she could between them. It took all she had not to leap out of his arms and run away.

As they walked passed, she saw Jonathon, who was looking at her intently. He was sitting on the same bench, a near-naked woman crawling all over him. He, however, paid no attention to her and just nodded at Clary. She looked away, unable to bear meeting his eyes again.

He set her down gently on the bed, hands skimming down her sides as he did. When she looked up at him, she could see the lust in his eyes, clear as day. He looked down at her, demanding and possessive. She shrank back, terrified.

 _Make him happy._ Jonathon's words echoed through her head. She shuddered, closing her eyes.

She would have to do this. If she refused him, she knew it would cost her more pain.

Her hands reached for the clasp of her dress, her breathing shallow. However, a big hand clasped her own. She opened her eyes to see her husband, who was looking down at her. "No," he said firmly, pulling her hand away from her dress.

"What?" She said, shocked.

"No," he nodded his head.

He knew she didn't want him at all. He could probably smell the fear on her. She let out a sigh of relief, feeling light-headed with relief.

His hand came to grip the nape of her neck; Clary froze as his cool, minty breath fanned her neck. He suddenly stepped backward, face formidable. "You name me Jace," he told her in broken English. "When we alone."

Clary nodded, bowing her head submissively.

He grunted once again, before turning away. He was holding a small bowl in his hands. "For feet," he said, gesturing towards her blistered soles.

She hadn't realized how sore her feet were until he had bought it up. She took it from him, careful not touch his skin in anyway. "Thank you," she said softly. He just turned away, and then to her surprise, took of all his clothes. She gasped, turning around with speed she didn't know she possessed.

Jace chuckled darkly, handing her a pile of sleeping clothes. He wrapped himself into the covers, Clary watching the muscles in his back contract as he lay on his stomach, tousled gold hair shimmering in the soft candlelight.

She applied the balm to her aching feet, stripped quickly and dressed into her nightclothes. They were just a strip of silk, barely covering anything. Her pale legs were exposed, the dress barely covering her bottom. She took a deep breath, brushing her dress off with shaking hands.

Today had not gone in the way she had thought.

She crept over to the bed, cautious o not wake her husband, who's light snores indicated sleep, and slipped underneath the covers of the huge bed, as close to the edge as possible. She drew the fur covers close to her body, curling up into ball as she tried to hide her tears. At the fact that her brother had sold her like a horse to the highest bidder. That she was know a queen to a vicious race of barbarians.

And to fall asleep in a stranger's bed.

* * *

 **Hi guys! Did you like this chapter? I decided to use the method of another fanfic and write down what 'Idrisian' means:**

 **Dictionary:**

 **1. _huwelik_ \- marriage **

**2. _Koning_ \- King**

 **3. _Koningin_ \- Queen**

 **...**

 **I didn't want to make them to sleep together now; I want their relationship to develop before they do.**

 **As always, please review and keep reading!**

 **Love you all!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	4. Chapter 4 (In Family We Trust)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 4. In Family We Trust**

 **Hi everybody! I'm really sorry it took me this long to update, but I wrote the story, it then decided to delete itself, so I had to do it all over again! Urgh.**

 **I'm not too sure about this chapter. I'm not sure if it's boring, or entertaining. Anyway, please let me know.**

 **All of your review made me super happy and I love you guys for them. They had me feeling so happy.**

 **Please review!**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4.**

 **-Clary-**

Wincing, Clary nearly stumbled off her horse but her handmaidens, Jynei and Sherla caught her just in time, gripping her arms as she fell to the ground. She offered them each a weak smile as they hauled her to her feet. At least she was allowed to mount a horse, Clary thought as she observed the pair. Slaves were forbidden to ride, and were forced to walk alongside the warriors and native Idrisians. Both of the girl's feet were blistered and covered in sores.

She bit back her swell of tears, straightening her back, arms pulling away from her handmaidens. The Idrisians respected strength above all else; they would eat her alive if she showed weakness.

She had only been with the Idrisians for about a week; it was terrible, absolutely awful. Her new husband, Jace, an unusual name by even Alicante standards, ignored her completely. He would spend all day riding at the front of his horde, mounted on a black, fierce stallion which only seemed to answer to him. It would snarl and snap at any other man who approached. He would then dine with his men, setting up camp during the night. He would drink with Alec, do his duties then fall into bed while Clary slept on the edge of their bed, avoiding any sort of contact with him.

Clary would lay in her tent, tears wetting her pillow as she tried to stay strong, and hours later he would crawl in next to her, falling asleep, smelling of pine and smoke, a rich, exotic spicy scent.

Yet still, he didn't touch her.

And for that, Clary was glad.

Clary rode her beautiful white mare all day, something that she was not used to, not at all. Her thighs were weak and supple, and the skin broke at the endless riding. Her legs were bloody and cracked by the end of the day, her muscles loose and weakened as she struggled to even lift a finger. She could barely walk, and even when she tried, she fell to the ground. The Idrisians set up camp each night in the middle of nowhere, killing and eating from the weakest of the herd, setting bonfires and drinking, laughing and talking in that harsh, harsh tongue that she struggled to understand.

And everyday, she would eat nothing, simply nibble on a bit of bread and excuse herself to her and the King's tent, where she would curl up in the bed, trying not to feel sorry for herself, thinking of all the places she would rather be.

She wanted to go home.

She wanted Bryta.

But most of all, she yearned for her father, whom she knew she would never have again.

Her _soldaat_ , Jordaan, barked something in the harsh language of Idrisian. A soldaat, as Isabelle had explained to her, were a group of men chosen by the Koning to protect the Koningin. She had four men in her's; Jordaan, a young and lively youth, Barmus, a sweet old man and Alaric, a father of three who was gruff but kind. They were with her for most of the day and were sworn to protect her at all costs.

Struggling to keep her tears at bay, Clary blinked up at Jordaan. "I apologize, I'm not sure what your saying," she tried to say, not realizing just how silly she sounded. His English was as good as her Idrisian; none of her soldaat's, save Barmus who knew a few words of the common tongue, spoke any English at all.

"He asks you if he should forcibly remove the slave girl's from your presence, Koningin," her handmaiden, Iorei, translated perfectly for her. iorei had been a gift from the Koning, a maid who would tend to Clary day and night and help her become accustomed to the Idrisian culture. "He asks if they are insulting to the Koningin."

Clary realized that Jynei and Sherla were still holding her up, arms supporting Clary's weight. "No!" Clary squeaked, feeling frightened that they were going to hurt the girls. "No, Iorei, please tell Jordaan that they are not insulting at all."

Iorei parroted her message back to Jordaan, who nodded. Him and Barmus exchanged brief conversation; Clary released a sigh of relief as he headed off with her horse to settle her in for the night. Jynei and Sherla helped carry her to her tent's chambers, where they drew a bath for her. Iorei soon joined them, where she sprinkled herbs and dry lavender into the tub. Blushing furiously, Clary shyly asked them to turn around so she could get unrobed. Thankfully, they looked away so she could quickly strip off her clothing and toe into the bath. It was nice and hot, which she was grateful for as it soothed her muscles. She sighed, tilting her head backwards.

Iorei washed Clary's hair, lavishing her hair with a sweet smelling cream that left her red curls shiny and soft. When the handmaiden started throwing a scattering of strange salts around Clary, she asked what it was for. "Koningin will be carrying the Koning's child soon. This will make you fertile for your husband so you can give him many children," Iorei explained to her.

Clary remained silent. Isabelle, after learning of what had happened on their wedding night, warned Clary that if the Idrisian people learnt of it, they would lose respect for the Koning. They would think him weak for not consummating the wedding because of Clary. An heir had to be produced in order for Jace's rule to continue down to his children.

But Clary was still grateful. She knew her duty; to produce strong sons and fertile daughters, but she was not yet ready.

The water had chilled by now, so Clary exited the bath and dressed in her nightclothes. Iorei applied a balm to her hands to help with the rawness as Sherla cleaned the wounds on her thighs. Jynei brushed her hair, thin fingers working hard through her knots and curls.

The silence soon became unbearable and Clary cleared her throat. She spent day and night with her handmaidens, but did not know much about them. "Jynei, you've never told me where you're from," she asked, attempting to keep the conversation light.

Jynei bowed her head submissively. "I am from a village in the North, Koningin. I do not remember it's name. I was taken from there as a very small child by the Idrisians," she said quietly, looking down at her frail hands.

Clary didn't know how to respond. "Jynei, I'm so sorry."

The dark-haired girl shrugged her shoulders as she continued to brush her hair. "It was not your fault, Koningin. Only the men who took me." Her voice was sad, but it had an undercurrent of defeat, of a weariness so old that it had no age nor shape.

"Our gods let us raid and take because they know it belongs to us," Iorei swelled to the defense of her people; she was very proud of being Idrisian and considered it the highest honor to serve the Koningin.

Neither Sherla or Jynei dared to reply, but rather continued their tasks.

"And what about you, Sherla?" Clary asked the other, slightly larger girl with lank blonde hair kindly.

Sherla glanced at Jynei, seemingly unable to say anything. At long last, she muttered, "I am from the same village as Sherla. We were friends as children. When our village was raided and taken, we were stolen and our parents killed."

Clary felt an indescribable sadness swell in her chest at this.

What misery and turmoil they had faced for two girls so young, more so than she ever had. And she had been worried about marrying the Koning; even if he had taken her that night, or if he had been cruel and malicious as everyone had swore he was, she would not know even a fraction of the pain they had felt.

She was luckier then most, she realized. But before she could say anything, there was a voice outside, asking to enter. She stayed quiet before she realized the others were looking expectantly at her.

She was a Koningin now, a position highly respected amongst the people of Idris.

Clary cleared her throat before permitting them to enter. Jonathon had taught her to be docile and obedient, so it was strange for her to have a hold, a position above others.

It was Alec who entered the tent, the handsome Idrisian man with blue eyes and thick, dark hair. He was the Koning's most trusted blood brother and they seemed like family and treated each other as such. Isabelle had told her that he was her brother, and that the Koning trusted no man more than him.

He bowed his head respectfully, but Clary sensed a suppressed feeling of hostility and dislike threaded through actions. "My Koningin. The Koning requests your presence. I am to escort you to him," he said stiffly.

Clary clutched her robe tighter to herself, shy and untrusting and a million other things. "Of course," she muttered, feeling flushed. "I just need t-to get dressed."

Alec seemed even more uncomfortable than Clary and red crept up his neck. "Uh...yes, I'll be outside," he stammered, quickly exiting, the flourish of the tent flap rippling behind him as he did.

Clary dressed in a rush, in a silk dress which was another gift from Olyeran. It showed off what little breasts she had and flowed around her ankles. She exited the tent; the sun had sunk low into the ground, only soft yellow tendrils of it struck throughout the purpeling of the sky. Alec was there, waiting, and they silently walked throughout the campground together.

It was full of tents, made of Idrisian cloth, set up everywhere. Children laughed and played in the nearby river, splashing each other as their mothers watched them, gossiping and weaving baskets with other women. The Idrisians had a large army as well as a large population. Most of them had left their lands and their kingdom behind to see their King marry a princess. Isabelle told her that a favorable few had stayed behind to defend the land from invaders. But many were too scared to even step foot into the barbarian territory.

The land around them was lush with streams and lakes, thick with trees and trails that hundreds were able to pass through, even an army. Isabelle had told her that these lands were of the Idrisian plains, all part of the Great Oaisei Road that they and all ancestors had walked. They traveled by the day and settled into camp by the night, using means of horses and wagons to trudge through sandstorms and breezes and hot rainforests.

The people looked up at Clary as she passed them; a mixture of curious, hostile and inquisitive faces stared at her. Feeling very self-conscious, she wrapped her arms around herself, avoiding each gaze as they flickered to her.

Eventually, they reached the center of the camp, where there was a huge fire lit. The flames crackled and laughed as they danced in an untimely fashion that simply mesmerized Clary. In the center of it stood Jace, who looked simply huge in the lumbering firelight. His eyes were coated in black paint and he was dressed in leathers and furs.

He looked down at her as she approached, head bowed and hands clasped together. "My Koning," she murmured respectfully.

He nodded at that, turning back to the fire. Isabelle, who was dressed in a simple cotton dress, sidled up next to her brother and Clary. Then, a troupe of men brought forward a whole herd of livestock; seven sheep, seven cows, seven horses, seven chickens and seven goats. Clary looked curiously at them, wondering what their purpose served.

Isabelle saw her look and moved closer to her. "Before our next raid, Clary, we pray to the gods for good plundering and jewels. To appease them, we sacrifice our animals for good fortune," Isabelle whispered to her. "Seven of each, which is our lucky number."

They lined the animals up, sporting pegs into the ground to hold them. Malachi, the man who had officiated their wedding, came forward with a long knife clutched in his hands. He stepped upon a small platform, staff clutched tightly in his other hand as he spoke.

Isabelle rapidly translated for her, whispering into Clary's ear. "We offer our best animals for you, Sueni, goddess of the sky and the earth. And to our lord the Fire God, who's eternal heavens may some day reign this earth, be pleased with our offerings. Please bless us with safe travels and may our all men do their Koning and Koningin proud and eternally honor their families. Please accept these sacrifices for in our safe travels and good tidings." He raised his knife and whispered a prayer to the gods.

He then ventured to each animal, murmuring strange words to them. Holding a bowl beneath their throats, he used his knife to slit their throats in a quick flick of his wrist. Clary flinched, feeling revulsion and pity rise in her throat.

It was strange and terrifying; she tried to imagine something like this happening in Alicante, but nothing but blanks came to her.

"Don't look away," Isabelle warned her. "They will know if you do."

Clary didn't but instead watched and listened to the protests of the animal, neighing and bleating and scream, scream, screaming until there were no more left. Their blood dripped into the bowls that Malachi held underneath them. And soon enough, thirty five bodies lay, motionless, amongst the ground.

But the scariest part was when Malachi turned to her, old, dark eyes piercing a part of her that was scared hapless beyond reason. He raised a hand, gesturing for her to come to him. She was frozen until Isabelle hissed at her, pushing her forward so that she stumbled to him.

He turned to Jace, who stood so tall and silent; the old man dipped his shaking fingers into a bowl of blood and wiped them across Jace's face. Clary felt bile rise in her throat and struggled to fight it down. Jace didn't seem to mind, and stood tall and beautiful, even as the blood trickled down the hard edges of his face.

And then Malachi turned on her, wrinkled fingers dripping with crimson-red blood. "Now, Koningin, your turn," he murmured in a strange accent, swiping his fingers across her forehead.

The warm substance dripped down her cheeks, staining the pretty silk of her dress. The smell of blood invaded her nostrils, making her feel faint.

However, she steeled through it and clenched her teeth, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Ons Koning en Koningin! Mag die gode in jou guns wees en gee ons geluk! Laat ons krygers in hul woede skree en vat wat dit is!" Malachi croaked the crowds of Idrisian people.

 _(Our King and Queen! May the gods look in your favor and grant us good fortune!Let our warriors scream in their fury and take what it ours!)_

The people responded in a cry of maddening joy, throwing their arms around as they cheered and sung and cried. Clary took a deep breath, trying to ignore the thick blood that dribbled down her face. She could imagine Jonathon now, laughing cruelly at her.

 _You are a true barbarian now, dear sister_ , she could imagine him saying.

Jonathon had left a few days ago, taking his time to leave. He enjoyed the food and company there, especially the women, much to the chagrin of the Idrisian warriors. But he was a honored guest and was held in high regard. She remembered him asking how painful it had been, losing her virtue, and when she had replied meekly about how much it had hurt, he had looked slightly disappointed.

Thankfully, he didn't broach it after that. And she was even more grateful when he left, taking his men with him. The royal carriages had been packed and ready to go. Jonathon looked especially beautiful that day, in fine robes of green that matched the color of his eyes.

She still remembered his last words to her. "Bear him five fine sons, Clarissa, and you will not suffer. Do as he says and you will be rewarded. Until next time, sweet sister," he had smiled at her, taking her hand and kissing it gently.

But like most things that her brother did, it was a threat, full of poisonous promise.

He never did one thing without there being another. She thought back to a simple time when they were just children, and how Jonathon would take all her desserts and toys, but promise he would give them back to her later.

He never did.

Jace indicated at Isabelle to come to him; the dark-haired girl did, dark hair whipping around her face. Clary had always been entranced by just how handsome he was; he was epitome of masculine strength and beauty, she thought. He said something to her in Idrisian; Clary noticed that his hard eyes softened only slightly when talking to Isabelle. The girl nodded, taking Clary by the wrist and dragging her away to her tent.

"The Koning has ordered me to prepare you for tonight's ceremony," Isabelle told her as she hauled her into her tent. Jynei, Sherla and Iorei were waiting for her, scrambling to their feet as they bowed.

"We need to prepare for the ceremony at the Boen Slyn for the Elders," Isabelle told Iorei, who nodded.

"What is the Boen Slyn?" Clary struggled to pronounce the unknown word that sounded foreign on her tongue.

Isabelle looked amused at her ignorance. "It is our most sacred place, Koningin. The Elders of Idris, the smart and the wise, live there. They need to meet you, Clary, as you are the new Queen of Idris. They will present you to our gods and bathe you in the sacred gods oils. Then, and only then, will you be the true Koningin," Isabelle explained to her, seating her in a chair. The handmaidens brought out oils and flowers and a leather dress that was decorated with furs.

Isabelle rubbed her fingers through the scalp of Clary's head with her hands slathered in the sweet smelling lavender oil. They braided their thick, red curls, weaving in small blue and pink flowers. The dress felt heavy and unfamiliar as she put it on, the furs soft and unknown to her skin. They draped her with Idrisian gold and coppers, jewelry that adorned her skin. She looked down at her mother's necklace, and the one that Jace had given her.

She breathed in, inhaling the rich scent of heavy perfumes.

It would be alright.

The dress was a little too heavy and Clary struggled to stand, but managed to lift her skirts and get to her feet, which were clad in wooden shoes painted with patterns of the sea. Isabelle admired her work, ordering her to spin around.

"Perfect," Isabelle clapped her hands in delight, ushering her towards the hut's flap. "The Koning will be waiting for you just outside."

"Good luck, Koningin," Iorei beamed at her, as if pleased with herself for the work she had done on her. "We will watch you from the crowds." Sharla and Jynei murmured words of support; Clary smiled meekly, before following Isabelle out.

It was even darker now, for the ceremony was required to be performed in the blackest of night. Clary could barely see and squinted to even make out the stars; the two of them went down a slope of the hill, Clary desperately trying to regain footing as she nearly tripped twice. A group of soldiers waited down the bottom of the hill, all holding torches and spears. Clary shrank in their presence, making herself small as she approached Jace, bowing her head submissively in fear. He was dressed in clothes that were familiar to Clary's, except that while she was awkward and loose-fitting in it, Jace looked like he was born to were those clothes, strong and broad.

He nodded at her again, crossing his arms over each other. Leading her over to Callisto, who's mane gleamed silver in the moonlight, his hands went to her waist, making her shiver as he picked her up as if she was a child, and placed her on the horse. His hands, rough and firm and hot, burned into her skin as they left her hips, leaving a trail of fire.

He too mounted his own horse and together, they rode off into the distance, the hot summer wind leaving a bitter taste in Clary's mouth.

* * *

Gasping, spluttering for air, Clary's chest heaved up and down as more oil was poured, not caring for her need to breathe, down her hair. It smelt too raw, too rich and it filled her nostrils until she felt like she couldn't even dare smell anything else. She sat in an ornate tub, made of a silvery steel that the women of the Boen Slyn claimed that the goddesses of the yesteryear used this tub to bathe and one of the sea gods were birthed in it.

Clary wasn't too sure how she felt about bathing in the same tub in which a baby was born.

It would explain the angry-red marks, however.

The Boen Slyn was a fine building, made tall and great with great slabs of grey stone and fine with intricate pillars and roofs carved out in hollowed slates. Torches were lit all around the building so Clary was easily able to climb from her horse and was met with the stony stares from the Elders of the building. They welcomed her with monotone voices, leading her inside. The women took her into an even bigger room, the tub in the center of it, ordering her to strip her clothing as she trembled pathetically, stuttering as she told them she couldn't.

They just met her remark with blank stares, some of their faces even confused.

The tub obscured most of her body, and she had to climb the stone steps to reach the platform, so she shakily removed her clothes, burning with shame as the old women gazed upon her body, amok with her brother's fury. She quickly stepped into the tub, wanting to cry as her shoulders trembled.

How weak they must think of her.

The next Koningin, the woman who was to counsel the man who led the most powerful hoards of Idrisian warriors who owned the land, trembling at the thought of bare bodies.

The rest of the tribe filed in, tall, strong men and fierce-looking women who made Clary draw her knees up to her chest so they wouldn't see her breasts. Jace, wearing a fur cloak and angry black liner drawn around his eyes, followed in as the crowd quietened. The elder men followed him suit, wearing robes of deep blue as they walked up to the podium.

And from there, the rest of the ceremony commenced.

They chanted in a language that Clary only hummed to, they cheered and whistled and sang sweet songs. Bringing out the sweet-smelling oil, they bathed her in it as she struggled to even breathe. Jace, and his _vloedriders_ , watched her as Clary tried to hide her naked body from him. She could feel his gaze burn into her back as she arched her body forward, glad that the dark lighting showed off only the slint of her skin.

She felt his eyes roam her body and shivered, drawing her arms closer around her.

The old woman chanted once more, crying out for the gods and praising the heroes of old, pouring more oil down Clary's back. Her hair dripped oil and her body shone oddly, her entire body laced with the substance.

It was only when that the woman put her hand on Clary's head and tried to force her under the surface of the oil, that went up to about under her breasts. She looked up at the old crone, through blurry eyes, frowning as she struggled to keep the surprisingly strong grasp of the woman's hand from suffocating her.

The old crone shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "You must."

Clary sighed out, nodding her head and allowed herself to be pushed under. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes and the entire world went dark and warm and silent as her entire body was held into the oil. There was only a slight buzzing sound in her ears and it was then that a blinding light came to her vision.

She saw fields and mountains and all things spectacular. She saw herself, tall and strong, despite her size, standing with triumphant green eyes and her red hair blazing in the wind. She saw a small boy with golden hair, a dark cave that sprung into light, a river that sparkled a light, aureate color and finally, a palace set ablaze, ash on ash drifting to the ground.

A palace that looked all too familiar...

Gasping, she was brought back up for air as silence left from her ears and deafening cheering was met with it instead. The old crones crowded her, whispering, "she saw, she saw, she saw. A true Koningin," over and over again. She was handed a robe as her body was wrapped in towels, wiping the excess oil from her body. The crowd still stamped their feet, cheering with joy as they clapped their hands. Clary shivered as a robe was hung from her shoulders as she trembled, smiling slightly, embarrassed as everyone cheered for her.

Then everything went quiet as Jace walked over to her, graceful as a panther yet threatening as a lion. She looked up at him, cheeks still red, and went still when he took her hand, big, tan one swallowing her tiny, pale one.

The silence was far louder than the noise.

The Koning, fierce and strong and terrifying, got to his knee as he bowed his head to her, their fingers still clasped together.

"Ny Koningin," he murmured, making her heart beat faster.

The rest of the room joined them as they fell to their knees, bowing to Clary as she watched them in amazement. Her hand was still clasped loosely in Jace's as not a single person spoke, just bowed their heads in respect for their new Koningin.

Clary straightened her back, standing only slightly taller.

A hint of a smile tugged at her face.

Perhaps, maybe, it wouldn't be so awful.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 **1\. Jace's speech: Ons neem die westelike dorpe vandag. Isabelle en Alec sal lei, en ons gaan deur 'n perd vandag. Jy weet almal die reëls; jy hou alles wat jy beweer. Vroue, juwele, goud, wat jy wil. Ons ry toe die horing klink by vyfde lig. - "We take the western villages today. Isabelle and Alec will lead, and we go by horseback today. You all know the rules; you get to keep whatever you claim. Women, jewels, gold, whatever you want. We ride when the horn sounds at fifth light."**

 **2\. Blom - Flower**

 **3.** **Pragtige - Beautiful**

 **4\. Dankie - Thank you**

 **5\. Aangename kennis - Nice to meet you**

 **6.** **Juweel Van Lig - Jewel Of Light**

 **7\. Vuur God - Fire God**

 **What do you think?**

 **Yay or nay?**

 **Please review and keep reading!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	5. Chapter 5 (Where The Wild Things Hide)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 5. Where The Wild Things Hide**

 **Hi everybody! All of your reviews are amazing, and they make me want to hug all of you! I hope you like this chapter, and per all of your requests, here is a chapter with a lot of Clary-Jace interaction.**

 **Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you all like it.**

 **Please continue to read and review. I'm really so sorry for not updating my other stories, but I'm super busy and I just can't find any inspiration for them. I'm suffering from major writer's block.**

 **Love you all! Please read on!**

* * *

 **Chapter 5.**

 **-Clary-**

The next day was just like the one before. When Clary woke, she discovered that Jace was gone again. She blinked the weariness out of her eyes, stretching her stiff muscles. Slipping out of her bed, she discovered a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. She dressed and washed her face in a basin. Isabelle wasn't here this morning, she noticed. She was glad, though; Isabelle felt more like a chaperone than anything else.

She headed towards the dining room, trying to be as quiet as possible. Suddenly, a door burst open, and a snarling man stepped out. He held a pretty girl by the scruff of her neck; there were tears trailing down her face.

Clary threw herself against the wall, heart pounding.

"When you learn to suck a cock, come back, filthy whore!" He slapped her across the face; the girl let out a scream, sobbing through her pain. Panic, ugly and hissing, writhed up Clary's spine.

She wanted to help her. She wanted to stop the man.

However, she couldn't do anything. It was fear that had her rooted to the stop. How the man looked exactly like Jonathon.

She accidentally made a noise; unintentionally, her foot squeaked against the floor. The world titled to the side as she gasped. The man slowly turned his head.

She felt nauseous; would he also haul her into his room? The world seemed to stop around her, a faint ringing in her ears causing a headache to pound away at her head. She flattened her back against the wall, watching the man with wide, fearful eyes.

But he just muttered something, letting go of the girl. She ran away, her hands clutching at her face, sobs racking her frail shoulders.

Clary didn't dare breathe.

He retreated back into his room, nodding at Clary respectfully. She let out a deep breath, clutching her chest in relief. He was gone. Her heartbeat eventually evened out, until it was steady and solid in her chest.

She spent a few seconds trying to regain her composure, overriding the shock. She went to the dining room, where it was once again full of laughter and the clink of cutlery. She entered shyly, unsure of herself. Once again, everybody stood to their feet once she entered the room. She played with her fingers.

She walked to her seat, where Jace sat next to her. He was eating, chomping down ravenously at his food. She sat in her seat, shifting slightly to the side.

Isabelle was dressed differently today. She was wearing a beautiful, regal gown, full of patterns and designs. It was white, trimmed with pale gold linings. Her hair was swept up into an elegant knot, tendrils of hair spiraling down her slender face.

She turned her attention to the side, where a serving maid was handing out pastries. When she offered one to Clary, she gladly accepted it.

"Dankie," she said slowly, remembering the term for 'thank you'. The girl smiled shyly, before walking away. Clary bit into her pastry; it was filled with an unusual herb and cheese mixture, but was warm and delicious. She felt a pair of eyes on her; she turned to see Jace looking at her, gold hair falling almost to his shoulders. He was studying her with intense, darkened eyes. She couldn't get a read on his expression.

She squirmed under his gaze, deciding to instead focus on eating her pastry. The dining room was filled with laughter and talk. Clary kept her head down, drinking milk from her goblet and chewing on bits of fruit.

She didn't see anyone she recognized. She did see Alec there, looking sullen and moody as usual.

She hoped she didn't see the man from before.

She didn't feel much like eating today; she was still being acquainted with the circumstances. Her life was much too filled with strangeness for her to feel the need for any food.

Jace had finished off the last of his food before he stood up. He looked at Clary, gesturing at her to follow him as walked away from his seat. She trailed behind him, keeping her head down.

Isabelle winked at her as she did, before her brother hauled her into a conversation.

They walked down the same hallway as before, Jace in front of her. She could only stare at his back, muscled, browned and riddled with small scars. They reached the doors, but turned around to the side of the castle, where the stables were held. A stable boy, with brown hair and matching eyes, rushed forward.

Jace nodded at him, though his eyes were stern. "Simon. Get our horses ready."

The boy nodded. He looked around sixteen, the same age as Clary. He was tall and gangling, still clinging to the last shreds of childhood. "Yes, my lord."

He brought out two horses; one Clary recognized as the gift Jace had given her. The white horse from yesterday. Simon handed her the reins, and she took them tentatively. She hadn't been around horses for ages; in fact, she had only ever ridden them a few times when she was much younger, when her father was still around. Her horse trotted forward, neighing softly. Clary stepped back, frightened.

A warm hand touched her own. Clary turned to see Jace looking down at her, fingers lingering on her wrist. He was shaking his head; Clary trembled, scared of the close proximity.

"No," Jace said firmly. "Don't be scared of horse. She know fear, and sense it."

He grabbed her hand, gently, putting it on the horse's muzzle. Clary tried not to think about how he was touching her, and how much stronger he was. He was a barbarian, wild and violent. The horse was still, calm even as she made contact. The fur there was very soft and velvety, coarse under her fingers. Jace's much larger hand was over her own, warm and hard.

Clary stayed very still; her horse nickered, trotting forward. Jace removed his hand, drawing it back slowly. Her horse seemed to like her touch, and snorted. Smiling, Clary stroked her muzzle, more confident. She laughed when her horse nuzzled her neck.

"Does she have a name?" Clary asked Jace, stroking her neck.

"No. You get choose." Jace told her. His own horse stood beside him, loyally, not moving. He was tall, sturdy and his coat was colored ink-black. His mane was flowing, dark and coarse in the soft breeze.

Clary pondered on the name. "Callisto," she said decidedly. "Her name will be Callisto." She wasn't sure where the name came from, but she faintly remembered reading it in a book once.

Jace nodded approvingly. "Good." He looked up towards the sky. "We ride now." Without warning, his large hands went to her waist, lifting her up. She let out a small squeak of surprise as she was placed in her saddle. His hands left heated imprints on her waist; she could feel them burn through her dress.

She wanted to huff in irritation. She didn't need his help, but it was fear that stopped her from speaking out against him.

She ground her teeth instead.

She felt slightly nervous about being on top of such a huge animal, but tried to quell it as she remembered Jace's words.

She tried to balance herself as the horse moved slightly, shifting it's weight. She felt tall, held above the world. The ground suddenly looked more faraway than usual.

"Where are we going?" Clary asked, shifting around in her saddle. Jace himself had hooked a leg over his own horse, strong, lean legs pushing himself over his horse. Clary realized she was staring, and looked away, blushing.

"To waterfall," Jace said, looking sure and confident of himself as he held his reins. Clary wondered where this waterfall was, and why he was taking her there. The thought of being alone with him was terrifying. However, he hadn't hurt her so far, so she would have to try to not anger him.

Clary's legs were clenched around the horse to prevent her from falling off.

"Don't let go with rein," Jace told her, leaning forward so that his horse cantered slightly. "Scares horse." Clary nodded, tightening her grip.

"I understand."

"I lead. Follow careful." He started his horse with a slow trot. Clary knew from her lessons as a child on how to urge her horse on, to start a gallop among other things. She followed him with tentative carefulness.

The gates opened for them, and Jace pushed his horse though without any hesitation. She noticed that there was no guard who followed them. She supposed the Koning was strong enough to defend himself.

They took a turn into the forest, away from the village.

She spent most of the journey trying not to fall off, to keep her sense of balance as Callisto trotted forward.

The forest around her was familiar; she was now accustomed to the strange, somewhat foreign greenery that was the barbarian land. It was different from her own land, where everything was tamed and paled. The forest here was rich and wild, growing with an untamed sort of aggression.

However, there was a slight path that indicated a sort of trail. It was rickety and slightly uneven, but Callisto seemed to know how to avoid rocks and stray sticks.

Clary kept her gaze either straight ahead or down at the ground. The back of Jace's head was just a mess of golden curls. His shoulders were broad and well-defined, his body a darkened honey color.

She blinked, redirecting her look to the ground again.

The two of them stayed silent. There was the occasional chirping of the birds, the soft snorts from their horses and the trotting of their hooves against the town, but that was the extent of it.

The marsh eventually changed, growing thicker and more wild as the path dwindled dangerously. Clary winced as a passing branch scratched her cheek. She gritted her teeth; she could feel the sting bite at her skin.

Where were they? How much longer would this take? These questions swirled around in her head. She felt hot and flustered as the sun glared down at her, heating up her body. Her hairline was dripping perspiration.

Her throat was dry; she swallowed unconsciously, trying to quell the parch. She blinked the tears of sweat out of her eyes.

They went through a particular thick patch of land; Clary couldn't make out a thing in front of her.

However, she could roughly make out a clearing up ahead. Jace urged on his horse; Clary mimicked him, leaning forward.

She let out a sharp breath as they entered a beautiful, secluded space up ahead. There were tall trees that provided shade, and soft tresses of bright-green grass. A waterfall, tall and magnificent, towered over the landscape, spitting down clear spouts of water. It led down into a pool of shimmering water. Clary resisted the urge to jump in and soak herself.

Jace led his horse over to a patch of wild grass. He dismounted his horse in one expert move before moving to help Clary.

However, she had beat him to it and attempted to get herself off. She did relatively well, but stumbled slightly when she landed. She was pleased with herself.

She turned to Jace, who was holding out a canteen of water. "Drink," he said in a gruff voice.

"Thank you," she said, relieved. She drunk great gulps of the water, quenching her thirst that strained there. She handed it back to him, breathing heavily. "What are we doing here?" She asked.

"Show special sacred waterfall," he grunted. "Had do show new Koningin place. Get 'way from castle."

Clary tied Callisto to a branch, and then stroked her mane. "It's beautiful. Has anyone else been down here before?" She asked, amazed at how comfortable she was with her horse in such a short amount of time.

Jace shook his head. "No. I be here many time, not see anyone much. Not bring down any person other."

Clary swallowed. She was suddenly aware of their seclusion, of just how far away they were from everybody else. He could do whatever he wanted, and she was powerless to stop him.

He started to walk away from her, to head towards the lake of water. She almost died when he began to strip, taking off his clothes and leaving them in a pile as he entered the pool. Clary felt a blush color her cheeks; she looked away to stare blindly at the sky.

Why were these people so prone to nudity? Clary wondered. She hadn't seen a naked body before Idris besides her own.

She strayed behind, not wanting to join him, and watched Callisto graze the grass. Jace's horse joined her, thick neck bent over, chewing at the meadow.

She sat down by a tree, enjoying the breeze. The sun was high in the sky, now more pleasant than over-bearing. Eventually though, she got bored, and simply played with strands of grass, twisting them in between her fingers.

She would look up occasionally to see Jace in the water, simply swimming around or just standing under the water, letting the waterfall hit his broad shoulders.

She averted her eyes once again as his eyes would look up to meet her's.

However, she got to her feet once he called her name. She wandered over to the edge of the water. The water was lovely and clear, gleaming as streams of sunlight hit the surface.

"Want show something," Jace said, meeting her eyes; her breath hitched in her throat as his eyes trailed down her body. "Come in water."

Clary felt extremely vulnerable, and wrapped her arms around her body. She didn't want to take any of her clothes off.

Jace shook his head. "Not take clothes off. Come in." Clary was relieved, but looked down at her dress. It was beautiful and she would hate to ruin her clothing. But she didn't want to anger the Koning, so she took a step forward. The water lapped at her feet, the cold making her shiver. She continued until she was waist-deep, wading through the water.

She trembled as the cold water soaked through her clothes, eating away at her skin. She was just inches away from Jace.

His golden hair, darkened, was wet, dripping droplets of water that ran down his skin. They curved the sharp outlines of his face, sharp jaw, full lips and angled cheekbones.

She barely even went up to his shoulder. His chest was gleaming with moisture, dripping down his muscled arms, around his taunt hips.

He smirked, looking down slightly. "Come. This way." He waded through the water, a violent tussle of ripples left in his wake.

Clary followed, arms wrapping around her body. Wondering what he had been looking at before, she looked down and gasped quietly. Her nipples were visible, straining against her dress as they stood. She suddenly forgot the cold as heat filled her cheeks, rushing down her neck.

Jace chuckled, his back to her. She glared at the back of his head.

Oh Raziel, she hated him.

He was making his way to the waterfall. It got bigger and bigger as they approached, spitting down cannons of water that hit the surface with tremendous force. Jace waited by it. He said something to her, but the noise of the waterfall blocked any sound.

Clary shook her head. He just grabbed her by the waist, tucking her body in front of his own. Her back was pressed against his hard sternum; she felt herself go rigid, her breath coming out in a strangled gasp.

He was very warm; his skin managed to press through her dress, heating her shivering body. She felt hot, suddenly, as his warmth seeped into her cold body. She could feel every taunt muscle in his body press into her; stomach, legs, chest and all. It also didn't hurt to mention that he was stripped naked.

What on earth was he doing?

His chin rested on her head, clutching her even closer. Her body was being practically swallowed by his own. His hands rested on her waist, gently. She knew better to squirm and instead bit her cheek, trying to control her ragged breaths.

She fit perfectly into him. Like the pieces of a puzzle.

He walked even closer to the waterfall; Clary could feel the water spit at her, scattering her with drops of water.

She suddenly realized that he was trying to go through the waterfall. Her blood turned to ice and she squirmed under his grasp, despite his iron grip. "Are you insane?" She said to him, dismissing the consequences without a second thought.

He ignored her, and powered through. She closed her eyes, waiting for the impact. However, nothing happened, as Jace was sheltering her body with his own.

She opened her eyes, and was amazed at the sight before her.

It was a high-rising cave, with the water reflecting light onto the dark walls. The walls themselves were made of a dark stone, possibly obsidian, that looked smooth. Clary's breath came out in smoke, curling through the air.

She realized her body was still flush with Jace's, and quickly dis-entangled herself. He was soaked to the bone, hair tangled all over his head.

"This way," he said, taking charge once again. Clary followed him until they reached a slight slop of sand that led up to a patch of land. They were forced to crawl through a tunnel until they reached an opening.

Clary was astounded at what she saw; there were dozens of glowing insects on the roof, clustered on the walls. They were beautiful, glowing with a yellowish color that brightened up the entire cave room. They dotted the room as stars would encompass a night sky.

"They're amazing," Clary breathed softly. "What are they called?" She asked Jace, who was leaning against a wall.

"Vuurvliegies," he answered, shaggy hair falling in front of his face. "In you language, it mean 'firefly'."

"I've never seen them before," she said in a hushed voice.

Jace raised an eyebrow. "They not exist from where you come?"

Clary shook her head. "No. But I was rarely allowed to go outside, so they may be somewhere in my homeland."

"You could not go outside?" Jace asked, looking confused. Clary nodded.

"I was allowed to when I was younger, but then...I was not." Her throat constricted as she thought of her father. She had always missed him, but now, talking about him, only intensified the ache in her bones. She had always had Bryta, but there was no-one in the world who could replace her father. She wanted to ask Jace a question, but bit her tongue.

"You can ask me question," Jace said abruptly. He was now sitting down, legs loose and casual.

Clary blinked, startled. "What?" She said, caught off guard.

"You not ask question, cause scared," he said, eyes darkening.

Clary stayed quiet.

"It okay to ask. Our women always speak, always to ask question. Especially Isabelle," Jace chuckled. "What you want to ask?"

"I-I just was wondering...what happened to the previous Koning. Your father, I mean," Clary asked hesitantly. She had been wondering how old he was, especially since he only looked slightly older than her.

Jace was silent for a while, his eyes hardening. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He drew his legs up so that his knees were bent, his back propped up against the wall. "My father was unwell for many month. On my seventeen birthday, few days after, he went into rage and die."

"I'm so sorry," Clary whispered.

Jace shrugged, but his eyes looked pained. "My father was known as Jeroki to the people. His common name was Stephen."

"Like how your name is Alrik?" Clary guessed.

Jace nodded. "Yes. Alrik is name the people know me. Warrior name. Jace is common name, birth name."

"Does everyone have a warrior name?"

Jace shook his head. "No. Only royalty. Names have power, and our ancestors began traditions by giving us warrior names. We don't give enemy weakness by sharing our birth name. We must protect them."

"Okay. Is it alright if I ask for your age?" Clary asked tentatively.

"I eighteen."

"Oh." She had thought that he had been older, due to his mature appearance. "Alright." There was a silence. "Can I ask you another question?"

Jace nodded. "Yes."

Clary stretched out her legs so they hung out the side of the slope; water lapped at her feet, cool and pleasant. She hesitated, pursing her lips. "Why did you agree marry me?" She whispered, gauging his reaction with wide eyes.

Silence again. Clary watched the fireflies flicker, then glow again.

"Not sure," Jace grunted, but his voice seemed off. Clary cast her eyes downward. He got to his feet; Clary almost gasped as she remembered his nudity.

The fireflies glowed brightly, for now, for eternity.

* * *

Clary and Jace returned to Idris in the late afternoon. After returning from the cave, they dried off in the hot sun, sitting in an oppressive silence. Clary simply enjoyed the feel of the soft grass beneath her, the heat of the sun warming her body.

Callisto seemed pleased with Clary's return and nuzzled her neck. Her tail flicked backward and forward.

Their ride back felt short. Clary felt at ease; the sun was pleasant, and a soft breeze about. Clary felt sleepy, at ease even as the slow rocking of Callisto's trots lulled her.

The air smelt like a soft, warm afternoon, with a floral smell breezing around.

Clary didn't know what to think.

Jace was a barbarian. He looked like one, but he certainly didn't behave in the primal, savage way that Jonathon and Bryta described.

Clary could see Idris up ahead as she craned her neck to make out the wooden huts and the beautiful castle behind it. They entered, riding through the village. The people greeted the Koning with bows and smiles, throwing flowers and beaded necklaces. Clary saw Nadine with her mother; she waved at her, Nadine grinning shyly back to her. She caught a pretty yellow-colored flower necklace.

She put it on the crown of her head, letting it sit on top of her red curls. Callisto snorted, shaking off beads. Clary laughed, stroking her mane.

They eventually reached the castle gates, trotting through. Simon greeted them, and took their horses away to the stables.

Clary walked with Jace, with her arms clasped in front of her. "Thank you for taking me out today," she said softly, playing with a strand of her hair. "The waterfall was really beautiful."

Jace nodded. The sun cast shadows across his handsome face. "Good."

Clary bit her lip.

Suddenly, a scream resounded somewhere from the castle grounds. Clary's blood turned to ice as she gasped, eyes blindly searching for the sound. "What was that?" Clary asked, heart beating in her chest.

Jace's expression darkened. "Clary, don't-"

But she was already off, running towards the sound. She skidded around a corner, gasping.

There were dozens of terrified people, all in shackles, who were rounded up into groups. Their clothes were torn and bloodied, basically ripped to shreds. It was mostly young women, but a few men. They were all in chains, shackled as Idrisian warriors yelled at them, holding whips and swords.

They were all stricken with fear, terrified expressions on their faces. Cries were evident, girls sobbing as men struck them. Screams were thrown around; unforgiving whimpers were dealt amongst them.

A girl with bright blonde hair looked at her, with pleading blue eyes. Blood ran down her forehead, dripping onto the ground. She was clutching a small child in her arms, who was bawling her eyes out.

An Idrisian soldier barked with laughter, and grabbed her, yanking her up with brutal force. She screamed, letting go of the child.

He dragged her away, for reasons Clary feared.

Clary felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to throw up, but her stomach felt empty, hollow even. She had never felt this repulsed in her life.

There was a dull ringing in her ears.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be.

They really were barbarians. Just like Jonathon said. Just like Bryta had warned her about. Wild and violent. Brutal savages. And she was married to the king of them. She could feel tears burn the back of her eyes.

"Clary." Jace's low voice was in her ear. She jumped, strangled breath clawing out of her throat. She turned to face him, screams echoing through her ears.

"Who are those people?" Clary asked, feeling anger run through her veins. Jace didn't answer, he just stared down at her. "Jace, who are they?" She asked, more forcefully.

"They captured slaves," he said.

"From your raid. The one from yesterday.," Clary guessed, blankly staring at him.

His silence confirmed it. Another scream resounded from the slaves. Clary shuddered, clenching her jaw. "Why?" Clary asked him, with a disbelieving note in her voice.

"This is what we do. Part of life-" he started.

"It's wrong!" She snapped, her pent-up anger breaking once, she just didn't think, but spoke her mind. "It's completely inhumane. It's terrible what your doing to these people!"

His eyes were narrowed, darkened. "You dare-!" His hand was raised. Clary suddenly froze, fear paralyzing her. She raised her arms in defense, hiding her face away, closing her eyes. She waited for the blow, for the familiar feel of the pain.

When it didn't come, she dared to open her eyes. Watching him through her arms, she kept them up. He looked stricken, completely surprised as his eyes went wide. His arms were by his side.

"D-did you think I going hit you?" He asked, looking off guard for once.

Clary didn't reply, but simply stepped backward, as if slowly backing away from caged animal. He stepped forward, but Clsry shook her head.

"Please." Her voice broke. "Don't."

And then she fled, running away as if her life depended on it. She ran into a secluded corner inside the castle, where she slunk to the ground on her knees, panting for breath. She didn't want to cry, but a tear slipped down her cheek. She brushed it away, sniffing furiously.

She reached for her flower crown, throwing it onto the floor. She did;'t want to be like them.

Not now.

Not ever.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 **1\. Vuurvliegies - Fireflies**

 **Did you like it or not? Sorry there weren't more translations.**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	6. Chapter 6 (Oh, Sweet, Sweet, Sorrow)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 6. Oh, Sweet, Sweet, Sorrow**

 **Hey everybody! I hope you like this chapter. It might make you feel a bit angry at the beginning, even a little annoyed/sick, but said person will make up for it. Definitely. I worked super hard on this, and I hope you all like this.**

 **I loved your reviews. I know, slavery makes it terrible, but our favorite Khaleesi also had to suffer through that as well.**

 **Also, to answer another question, the language here is not Dutch. It is a language called Afrikaans, and it is a beautiful language that I absolutely adore. And to that reader who asked the question, I was surprised to know that it was so familiar to Dutch. That really surprised me. I hoped I answered all your questions, and if I didn't, I'm sorry.**

 **This chapter will be more of a girl-bonding time between Clary and Isabelle.**

 **Hehe.**

 **Please continue to read and review! Hope you likey!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6.**

 **-Clary-**

Clary stared blindly up at the ceiling, her breaths slow and shallow. She had retired early to bed without any dinner, but she barely felt hungry. She didn't want to face Jace, or anyone else for that matter. She just wanted to close her eyes and sleep. To just forget the terrible day she had.

She sighed softly, letting her eyes roam the walls.

The ceiling was painted with intricate designs, one of a beautiful, blue-skinned women who was spread across the roof. There were stars splayed across her dark body, twinkling as they gleamed, like the fireflies. Clouds and glowing planets also made up her body, as well as a luminous moon.

She felt like she had been laying in the bed for what felt like hours, simply staring upwards.

She wasn't exactly sure how she felt about the situation from before. She knew her feelings, yes, but they were a confusing blend of anger, terror and sadness.

Sadness at the fact that there were innocent people being chained and beaten, being used for the purpose of unpaid, forced servitude.

Clary also felt anger, which scorched her veins, setting her blood alight.

At her new husband.

At the Idrisian people.

At Jonathon, for making her weak.

But she always felt terrified. She had learnt so much here, good and bad, that was so different from her own home. They didn't practice slavery there. They didn't cut their hands open for the purpose of marriage. And they certainly didn't allow girls with open, outspoken opinions.

She shifted her position, wincing as the stiff muscles in her back cried with protest.

The silk sheets were soft under her body. The air was gentle and warm. She felt drowsy, but not drowsy enough for sleep. She just wanted to sleep, but it refused to come. She sighed in frustration, squeezing her eyes shut.

It was the beginnings of night outside, the sun softly sinking down into the mountains. Rays of pink-purple light shot across the sky; dark blue began to bleed through the sky like ink. Clary was reminded of the view from her own bedroom, where she would often gaze out the window, observing the heavens. Bryta often joined her, pointing out the constellations she learnt from her father.

She was beginning to doze off, her thoughts drifting, but then there was a fumbling outside her door. She sat up, eyes bleary, wondering who was there.

The fumbling continued, then a sudden bang against the door, like someone had tried to force their way in. Clary's heart skipped a beat.

Another bang, and Clary shrank back, her breathing slightly shallow.

The door suddenly opened, slowly creaking open. It slammed open, then was shut closed. A very uncoordinated Jace stumbled in, looking bone-tired. Clary sat up straighter, unsure of what to do.

Then, suddenly, the bitter smell of alcohol hit her; she wrinkled her nose. She was none too favorable about it. Her father would offer her sips as a child, but laughed when she pulled away in disgust. Jonathon liked the taste, and would often drink it along with his meals.

The smell was so strong that Clary's eyes burned, forcing tears to well up in her eyes. It was coming from him, so strong that she almost retched.

He was drunk.

Very, very drunk.

It was obvious enough; his usually solid and strong posture was lacking, he was stumbling around, eyes half-closed. Clary wondered just how much he had to drink.

"Jace?" She said quietly, her voice slightly hoarse. Did he get like this often? She didn't hope so. "Are you alright?"

She wasn't sure exactly how to act around him, especially because of her burst of outrage from before. She felt scared, scared of the consequences. Would he strike her for speaking out? Would he tie her to a pole outside, naked, and whip her? She shuddered, drawing her legs to her body.

"Clary..." he said in his low Idrisian accent, so quietly that she almost didn't hear it. He then tumbled into bed, looking at her with big, golden eyes.

Her eyes went wide.

He started to crawl over to her, on his knees as his body came over to hover over her's. She started to shake, fear clawing at her chest. Her heart was beating fast, too fast.

His chest was bare, strong, tanned muscles rippling as he continued to crawl over to her on his knees. His eyes were filled with lust, blazed with hot-white desire.

"J-Jace, what are y-you doing?" Her words came out in non-coherent gasps, her trembling clear in her words.

He said nothing, but continued to make his advance. His eyes were dark, looking almost black in the low candlelight. The smell of alcohol threatened to overpower her as it invaded her senses, taking over.

Her back was now pressed against the wall, her head slightly banging against it as she scrambled for more room.

Her arms were clenched against her sides, pressing against her ribs until she felt like she couldn't breathe.

To get away.

Get away.

She would rather Jonathon again, to tease her, to ridicule her, to strike her, anything in the world other than this. He could lock her in her room, with no food or water for days. Just anything but this.

Jace's body was now hovering over her, the alcohol on his face washing over her neck. She closed her eyes, forcing a whimper down. Goosebumps erupted all over her body, chills running down her arms and back. Oh God.

He suddenly collapsed on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She stopped breathing, a scream hitched in her throat. His breath tickled her neck.

He was hot and everywhere, every part of their bodies touching. She felt him, and the large bulge that made contact wroth her pelvis. He was very ready, and very excited.

She felt all of her nerves go numb, all defeated. Her body shut down, paralyzed with fear. She knew this was inevitable.

But was it though?

Yes, yes it was.

He was a barbarian.

A savage, unpredictable man, who seemed nothing like he really was.

He groaned into her neck. "So warm..." he mumbled, shifting his body upwards. Their bodies rubbed together; Clary choked on her breath as his erection rubbed against her thigh.

She felt it burn through her skin, until it reached her bones.

There was nothing she could do.

Could she push him off?

No, he was far too strong. He probably had more power in one fist than she had in her entire body. His muscled, toned body was evidence to that.

Could she scream?

She doubted anyone would care if she screamed.

Please, Raziel, please make him stop.

His hand went to her waist, squeezing with rough passion. His other caressed her back, before traveling downwards, outlining the curve of her buttocks.

She had never felt more terrified in all of her life. Not when Jonathon would grip her arm, drawing blood, not when Bryta nearly died because of a cold, not when her father grasped at her arms on his deathbed, telling her how much he loved her. And how he was so sorry that he had to leave her.

"Jace, please," she whimpered, a tear falling down her face. "Please stop." His hand was placed on her bottom.

It was useless.

Both his hands were on her back, lighting tracing the curves of her hips.

"Please." Her voice was barely a whisper. "You promised.

The words left her lips, and he suddenly froze. His hands stilled on her body. He seemed to just stop completely, even his breathing was silenced. He looked at her, under long, dark lashes.

He stared at her a long time, before dipping his head down. He mumbled something, before the alcohol consumed him and he dropped to the side. He was completely knocked out, sleeping soundly.

Clary didn't dare breathe. She clutched at the sheets until her knuckles were white.

All of her instincts were screaming at her; _go, run, get away, get away_.

But she couldn't move.

She couldn't...

She was frozen where she was.

However, she felt some sort of sense flood into her, slowly, then like more quickly. It ran through her like poison.

She got up, slowly, her head spinning with the impact of what had just happened.

But he stopped.

Why did he?

She took a deep, slow breath, shuddering as she did. She walked to the door, carefully. She wanted to sleep anywhere but next to him. She would take the floor, even. She was used to it though, as Jonathon would often force her into the dungeon at night if she misbehaved.

She could hear the other prisoners leer at her all night, their screams more like howls.

She still heard them now.

She reached the door, but stilled by it. She turned around to see Jace, who was snoring lightly on his stomach. She swallowed, before slipping out of the room.

Away from him.

Away from the screams that clawed at her.

* * *

She was rubbing her hands up and down her arms, trying to extinguish the feeling of _him_ on her body. She was roaming the castle halls, dazed, her mind running over the events like clockwork. Although she still felt nauseous, her stomach had settled. And because she had gone straight to bed without dinner, she felt quite hungry.

She was walking down an unfamiliar hallway when someone called her name. "Clary!" She turned to see Isabelle, in a pretty blue dress, racing down the hallway to greet her.

She looked perfect as always, with glowing skin and bright-white teeth. "Isabelle," Clary tried for a smile, but it came out as a grimace. "How are you?"

"I'm good." She definitely looked it. She looked more carefully at Clary. "What about you?"

Clary looked down. "I'm fine," she said, barely above a whisper.

Isabelle pursed her lips. "I saw Jace leaving the dining hall, looking more drunk than I've ever saw him. Even Alec couldn't stop him. He hardly ever drinks that much. The only time he's ever been more drunker than that is when..." her voice trailed off, lapsing into a silence.

"When his father died," Clary guessed, answering in a soft voice.

Isabelle's eyes widened. "He told you about his father?" She asked, astounded.

Clary nodded.

Isabelle said nothing more on the subject. "So, what are you doing now?" She asked, steering the conversation away from Jace's deceased father.

"I'm not really sure," Clary said, rubbing her arms again. "I couldn't sleep, so I taking a walk around the castle. How about you?"

Isabelle shrugged her dainty shoulders. "The same as you. Couldn't sleep. Besides, this is a time for celebration. For you, especially."

Clary looked at her, confused. "Why for me?"

Isabelle smiled down at her. "Because in a few days time, it will be The Festival of The Tomorrow Lands. Die fees van die Môre Lande, in Idrisian."

"I'm sorry, but what does that mean?"

"I keep forgetting that you do not know our customs. The Festival signifies one of the most significant events in our history. It represents the marriage between our sky goddess, and our earth god. In our culture, marriages are sacred. We call it 'Tomorrow Lands' because we look for tomorrow to see the better times. To marry and be happy."

"Does marriage necessarily make you happy?" Clary asked in a quiet voice.

Isabelle shrugged her shoulders again. "I wouldn't know."

Clary couldn't help but smile, simply because of Isabelle's nonchalance and blunt behavior.

"We should get going, though," Isabelle said. "Otherwise, we will miss it."

"Miss what?"

"The preparation for the festival," Isabelle grinned, before walking down the hall. Clary trailed behind her, arms wrapped her waist. Isabelle looked back at her, disapproving. "Don't walk with your shoulders hunched. A Koningin doesn't walk like that. She walks with pride, with her head held high."

"Maybe I shouldn't be a Koningin, then," Clary replied.

Isabelle only shook her head, smiling. "I don't believe that. But seriously," she paused, only to push down her shoulders. "That looks much better on you. More strong, less fear."

Clary said nothing.

Isabelle looked carefully at her neck. "What is it?" Clary asked her self-consciously.

"Nothing. I've just never seen one of them up close before."

"Seen what up close?" Clary frowned, looking down at her neck. Her pendant necklace from Jace and the one from Bryta were there.

"A marriage pendant." Isabelle picked up the jade necklace from her neck, tracing it with slender fingers.

"Is that what it is?" Clary asked, surprised. She had just assumed it was a gift.

"Yes," Isabelle nodded. "Idrisian men often give their wives a pendant, to claim them as their own. I've never seen one as pretty as this."

"Wait, claim?" Clary felt like throwing up. She snatched it back from Isabelle and held it up to her face. It looked as pretty as the day she had been given it, but now she just wanted to throw it away. It was bright green, craved with beautiful patterns. "This is to claim me?" She wanted to rip it off, throw it back in the Koning's face.

"Yes. This is how other men know to stay away from you. That you belong to another man. I know that in your customs, you present each other with rings. We exchange blood, among other things." She remembered the pain, now dull, from slicing her hand open to mingle her blood with Jace's.

 _I don't want to belong to anyone._

Clary felt sick to the stomach. She took a shuddering breath to calm herself. "How does everyone know I'm the Koningin?"

Isabelle snorted. "You are the only foreigner around here. Your red hair and pale skin are obvious enough."

"What about the slaves? The whores? They all look like foreigners to me," Clary shot back.

Isabelle's smile disappeared. "Whores are usually foreigners. Idrisian women rarely ever whore themselves out to the men. They have too much pride for that. Sometimes, they become desperate and do so, but rarely ever. Besides, most of the men prefer foreign whores."

"That's terrible," Clary whispered.

"I know all of this frightens you, Clary, but this is just part of our lives. We were all bred into this, with the raids, the killing, the blood, all of it. We've been doing this for thousands of years, and I doubt it will change. We were here when the Egyptians built their first dynasty, when Homer wrote the Odyssey. We have seen a lot, Clary, a lot. The rest of the world thinks we're untamed animals, savages and beasts who fuck our own horses and siblings. We don't, by the way," Isabelle said, catching the look on Clary's face. "But we have a rich culture, Clary. My mother may have been a foreigner, but I am Idrisian. I am proud to be."

Clary walked next to Isabelle, unsure of what to say. "Is that why you're so good at English? Because of your mother?"

Isabelle nodded, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Yes. My mother was amazing at everything, and she was determined to teach Alec and me English, as well as Idrisian. She tried Latin, but I didn't have the patience for it. I know a bit, though."

"Why did your mother come here in the first place?" Clary asked her.

"She was originally bought here. Her village was raided by Idrisians. She was caught by them, trying to run away. She was bought to the whorehouse, but my father fell in love with her, and married her a few weeks after." She looked at Clary, daring her to judge her mother. "The only way to get out of that place is if an Idrisian warrior marries you, or takes you out of there. It happened for my mother, and for a lot of other girls as well."

"How romantic," Clary muttered. Isabelle shot her a look.

"It was."

They continued in silence, when eventually, they reached the doors and walked through. It was darker outside, with the sky beginning to glaze over. They went past the castle gates, where a guard began to trail behind them. Isabelle held out her hand. "Ek kan sorg vir ons. Ons sal goed wees."

The man grunted something in low, fast Idrisian. Isabelle didn't seem pleased with his answer.

Isabelle glared at him with the ferocity of a wolf. "We both know I can beat you. Leave us alone," she said in English. Clary was impressed with her fierce and snarky attitude, but feared for Isabelle. She seemed to think with her mouth instead of her brain.

The guard finally relented, a sour look on his face. He left them alone, stalking back to his post.

"What was the first thing he said to you?" Clary asked her, curiously.

"'I can take care of us. We'll be fine,'" Isabelle replied. "You don't need a guard when you've got me. The only person here who could match me is possibly Jace."

Clary didn't comment. Just the sound of his name made her skin crawl.

They walked down to a bonfire, which was massive. Women crowded around it, singing and laughing, chanting songs as they wore pretty necklaces and other beaded circlets. She noticed that there were no men, only

'What's happening here?" Clary asked her, fascinated with the pretty dark-skinned women who were dressed in scraps of leather and animal skin bits.

"Before her wedding, the sky goddess held a massive feast, where all of her handmaidens and other women attended. No man was allowed. If they did enter, they were burnt to ashes."

"Oh."

Isabelle laughed. "Yes, oh. Anyway, they attended, and had a marvelous feast. It was where the sky goddess also became the protector of all women. She promised to watch over them, to guide them when they needed it. We call her Lug Godin, literally meaning 'sky goddess'. So every year, we celebrate, only with women. We celebrate ourselves, to be proud of us, to be strong. Men are forbidden to attend."

Clary wasn't sure if she felt relieved or delighted over that fact.

"Are you sure I should be here?" Clary asked uneasily, biting her lip as the other women stared at her. She let a curtain of her hair fall in front of her face.

"Of course you should be," Isabelle scolded, rolling her eyes. "You are the queen, Clary. You deserve to be here more than anyone."

Isabelle was always so confident, so sure of herself. Clary found that she was envious of how strong and fierce Isabelle was. Why couldn't be more like Isabelle?

She strolled through the dancing women, to the near center of the bonfire. Clary could feel the heat radiating from it, the glowing flames cackling and dancing in the night. Isabelle stood next to her, the fire reflecting in her dark eyes. The women continued to sing, sweet melodic notes that pierced the night air like a knife.

Then, Clary heard a few snickers. She turned her head to see two pretty girls, glaring at her with an unabashed hatred. She shifted under their gaze, swallowing. One of them had light blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. She was very tall and statuesque, and her dress exposed an awful lot of her skin. The other was just as pretty, in her own way, with striking dark eyes and short black hair.

The dark-haired girl whispered into the other's ear; she let out an derisive snort. Her icy blue eyes pierced into her own, judgement written all over them.

Clary frowned, wondering what she had done to upset her.

"Isabelle," Clary said quietly to her, "who are those two girls over there?" They definitely looked like foreigners, standing out amongst the other natives.

Isabelle muttered what sounded like a curse under her breath. "Ignore those two, Clary. They're nothing but trouble."

"Who are they, Isabelle?" Clary asked again, staring at the two glaring girls.

"Kaelie is the blonde one and Aline is the one with dark hair. They live down at the whorehouse. And trust me when I say they're good at their job."

"Why are they glaring at me right now?"

Isabelle pulled on a curl of her hair. "It's difficult to explain, Clary, and I'm not sure if you want to hear it."

"Isabelle," Clary pressed. "I think I can understand. I don't want any enemies."

"Clary, you are the Queen of Idris. That guarantees that you will have many enemies. Especially from the people who want to see the Koning dead. We have many enemies, Clary, and you do now too."

A girl holding a tray of delicious looking treats came by. Clary took two and scarfed them down; she was extremely hungry. They were sugary and sweet, dissolving on her tongue.

"Isabelle, just tell me."

Isabelle indicated for Clary to follow her; she did, stepping away from the fire. She glanced back, and saw Kaelie smirking at her, disdain simmering in her eyes.

Isabelle grabbed a tray of a girl, and went down to sit on a log by a creek. Clary sat opposite her, carefully to not rumple her dress. Isabelle silently offered a sweet to Clary; she gladly accepted, nibbling at the edge. "Clary, there is a few reasons why Kaelie holds a hatred for you. She's extremely jealous."

Clary blinked. "Of me?"

"Yes, of course. Kaelie is jealous, of you, of your stature, and your relationship to the Koning. She and him used to...screw around a lot." Clary went still at that. "She thinks that just because he fucked her a few times, she's something special. She wanted to be the Koningin, but of course, she means nothing to Jace. She was just a distraction, something to have fun with for a while. Even he finds her annoying. He only really fucks her when he's slightly drunk, or when he's had a bad day."

"Oh. Do you think he'll still-"

"No, no, definitely not. He's loyal, very much so. If he loves you, or even cares for you, he'll fight to the death. Besides, Kaelie hopefully knows to back off now. She's vicious, but she'll die if she tries to hurt you. No one ever gets away with hurting the Koningin."

"I've never really dealt with other girls before," Clary said.

"Really?" Isabelle asked her, titling her head to the side. "I used to get in so much trouble for pulling the other's girls hair and stealing their food. I never really had any girls for friends. I was just happy with Alec and Jace."

And here Clary was again, feeling out of place for never really leaving her room, or ever making friends.

She wished she had a childhood more like Isabelle's.

"Thank you, for letting me know, Isabelle." Clary smiled at her tentatively.

"That's fine, Clary. I actually don't mind you, you know. I'd like to show you more of Idris, if you like. "

"As long as you promise to not pull my hair or try steal my breakfast."

Isabelle laughed at that, tinkling and melodic. They continued to eat, for hours on end, simply talking. They ate, drank sweet juice from goblets, and watched the moon rise over the slopes of the hill.

Clary forgot the incident from before, and for once in her life, allowed herself to simply enjoy what was in front of her.

And it felt good.

* * *

 **Translations:**

 **1\. Die fees van die Môre Lande - The Festival of The Tomorrow Lands**

 **2\. Ek kan sorg vir ons. Ons sal goed wees. - I can take care of us. We'll be fine.**

 **3\. Lug Godin - sky goddess**

 **Hope you all liked.**

 **Please review and keep reading!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	7. Chapter 7 (Give Me Thine Blood, Thine)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 7. Give Me Thine Blood, Thine Fiend**

 **Hi guys! Okay, thank you for all of your reviews, I loved them all, but I'm going to answer them.**

 **First of, this is medieval times. Women were treated very poorly in almost all places. There was literally a sort of muzzle designed to stop women from talking. Men are men. And they're barbarians. I am a very modern women and a feminist, but I'm writing to fact. Women were often used as mistresses, or to simply please men. I don't like it, but it's part of our history.**

 **Second, Clary has been abused by her brother for years. He's done so many terrible things to her, and that made her weak. She is strong, though, but also learns to deal with it. Daeneryes was also the same with her brother, and was manipulated by him for years. Yes, she becomes stronger more quickly, but it's more slowly with Clary.**

 **...**

 **Do you guys want me to do a chapter next of flashbacks when Clary and Jace were young?**

 **Please let me know in the comments!**

 **Love you all, and goodbye!**

 **I hope you like this chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 7.**

 **-Clary-**

When Clary woke, she didn't know where she was. Her vision was blurred; she blinked the sleep out of her eyes, sitting upwards and leaning onto the back of her hands. She looked around, but did not see the familiar cleanliness of Jace's room. He seemed scarily obsessed with keeping his room tidy, even to near perfection, as Clary had discovered.

She realized that she was sitting in a bed; comfy and plushy. She was tangled in silky sheets, which slid across her body like water.

She groaned, rubbing the side of her head. Looking to her side, she saw Isabelle, sound asleep next to her. Even in sleep, she looked like a goddess.

Events of last night flooded through her head; everything came back to her in an instantaneous rush.

All of the details. She gripped the sheets as she felt Jace's warm hands on her again. Hot. Possessive. Hungry. They were everywhere. She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath. Would he be mad at her? That she had denied him? He had been drunk, very much so. She hoped to the heavens and the stars that he would not remember.

But, there was also him stopping, letting go. And her, running away, relieved.

She also remembered Isabelle, talking to her, and later asking her if she could sleep in another room. Clary recalled Isabelle's graciousness, how she didn't ask questions, and invited her to use her bedroom for the night.

She slid out of the bed, her feet finding the cold ground. She stumbled, struggling to grasp her coordination. She managed to make her way to the door and exited, trying her best to close the door quietly. Isabelle was still sleeping, soft snores indicating the rise and fall of her chest.

Clary smiled at the memory of last night; how much fun the two of them had had together.

Perhaps they were not all barbarians.

At least not Isabelle. Or Helen. And certainly not little Nadine.

She walked around the castle halls until she reached a backdoor. She exited, but not after looking at the guard for conformation. He nodded respectfully at her, before moving aside to open the doors for her. "Koningin," he said, bumping his spear against the ground. His long hair almost reached his hips. She acknowledged him politely, walking past him hurriedly.

It was now late morning, the sun settling high in the pale-blue sky. Clary noticed the gate, guarding the castle. Beyond that was simply forest, tall trees and thick shrub. There were apple trees, Clary noticed. Her favorite. And purple and yellow fruits as well. They grew, ripe, healthy and flushed with color.

She felt hunger growl in her stomach; she walked over, trying to reach for an apple. Her height prevented her from plucking one directly off the tree, so she went on the end of her toes, arm strained upward.

She was nearly there, but nearly lost her balance when-

"Here." A presence behind her appeared, out of nowhere, a hand shooting out to grab the apple. Clary froze, recognizing the voice as Jace's. He twisted the apple until it popped off, he handed it to her. His body was near flush with her's; in fact, she could feel his breath tickle the hairs on her head.

She turned around, attempting to step back almost immediately. He was there, looking fresh and almost glowing in the sunlight. His hair was wet, his chest bare and gleaming with perspiration.

He smelt like soap. And man, with a lemony sort of smell.

Her nails bit into the flesh of the apple, tearing though the hard skin.

"Thank you," she said, looking down at the ground.

He grunted in response. She could feel his eyes burning through her head, melting her into a pathetic, blubbering mess on the inside.

On the outside, however, she stood firm, jaw locked in place.

"Clary?" His voice was gentle. A finger hooked under her chin, forcing her to look up. Her heart skittered; why did she manage to have such a stupid reaction to him? Of fear, as she had had to Jonathon. Still had, Clary reminded herself. He was still alive, just only across an entire country. Still, it didn't feel faraway enough.

Her eyes were locked with Jace's, her head titled upward, his finger still hooking the curve of her chin. She had never once noticed how there were darker swirls of gold in his eyes, which neared light brown.

"Sorry," he said, in a very resolute tone.

He must be talking about last night. Clary blinked in surprise. She hadn't expected him to apologize, perhaps yell at her, or give her a smack for running away. "What?" She said in complete surprise.

Jace raised an eyebrow. "Not hear? Said I sorry."

"I can hear perfectly fine," Clary snapped at him, her temper once again getting the best of her. She clamped her mouth shut, regretting her angered words.

However, Jace grinned.

As if he were pleased by her outburst. He was unusual, Clary decided, if nothing else.

"What problem?" Jace asked her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nothing," Clary said. "I just didn't except an apology." It was true that she didn't; she had rather expected him to just

He was shaking his head. "No, Clary, no. You decide, always. My fault. I sorry. Apology to you."

Clary could hardly believe what she was hearing. It was hard to think when his hands were on her again.

"No man ever should not ask, Clary. Word you use. Cos-en," he said, eyes blazing.

"Do you mean consent?" Clary guessed, making out the word. Jace nodded slowly, confirming his answer.

"Always, Clary."

"Always," she said faintly. Then a question came to her; she at first, hesitated, but then remembered the right she had to ask him a question. "What if you were to do it again?" She asked, wary. "If you were to drink again, and forget yourself?"

Jace considered this question. He then rummaged around in a pocket of his, bringing out a dagger. "This was my mother's," he said, placing it in her hand. His eyes had grown dark, Clary noticed, at the mention of his mother. "If I ever come near, no permission, use it. On anybody who does."

"What happened to her? Your mother?" Clary asked, running a finger along the length of the dagger.

"She killed when I young. Taken by enemy, killed in front of father. Battle for two year, then defeat them. My father slit king throat, pay for my mother death. Entire kingdom taken by Idris."

"Is it fair? To rid an entire kingdom for their king's crime."

Jace shook his head. "Hardly. Kingdom bad, very corrupt. Wife-beater, rapists, thieves, murders. Lot of them."

Clary decided not to press any further. "I wouldn't know how to use this," she said to him, examining the dagger with more care. There was a very sharp edge to it, and a leather handle, but there were pretty jewels embedded around the helm.

He grabbed her hand, closing her fist around the hilt "I teach you. Every Koningin should know how defend them self."

"All right," she said, nodding. Although she had been around weapons her whole life, she had never actually used any. What need did she have? She was the princess, after all.

"Many ways to kill man, but easier ways then other. Grip knife hilt tight, then begin..."

For the next hour or so, they practiced. Clary learnt so much, it was almost unbelievable. Jace was a fantastic teacher, and despite his struggle with the English language, he managed to communicate her, almost flawlessly. He taught her defensive moves and offensive. She learnt to stab a man through the ribs to kill him, and to cut through the skin to skewer the kidney.

At one point, she actually slashed him across the arm by accident. "Oh, Raziel, I'm so sorry," she gasped, eyes wide as she dropped the dagger, rushing over to get the wound. It was bleeding slightly, crimson drops spilling down his arm.

He pushed her away lightly. "It fine." There was a smirk in his voice. "Worse than this. Pick up dagger. I show how attack man behind."

Clary nodded slowly, picking up her dagger again.

When he was satisfied with her skill, he stopped her. "Good," he appraised her. "We done for today."

Clary was sweating with perspiration, panting slightly as she did. It had been a long time since she had done any serious activity. "Thank you, Jace."

His hardened eyes seemed to soften a fraction. "We equals, Clary. Koning and Koningin. Stand as one, father said always."

"Equals," Clary said, offering him a slight smile as she said it. It sounded good, better than, to her.

He gave her one of his easy grins.

"I teach you archery soon. Alec is better, but..."

"He doesn't like me," Clary said, guessing the rest of his sentence. She often caught Alec glaring at her, for reasons she did not know why.

"No," Jace said firmly. "He do no trust you. You foreign."

"That's very bias of him," Clary resisted the urge to scowl. "He can't immediately distrust me because I'm a foreigner."

"We have bad moments with foreigner. My mother killed by them, our people slaughtered by them. Most of people do not trust them, with good reasons."

"Do you often get invaded by other kingdoms?" Clary asked.

Jace shook his head. "Rare ever. Not many king mad to invade here. My men protect village, my people. Beside, most stories scare off peoples."

"I'm sorry about your mother."

Jace shrugged, but his jaw was clenched. "Long time ago. Over it." Clary could tell he was anything but over it.

She decided not to bring it up again.

"Tonight is first day for Die fees van die Môre Lande."

"The Festival of The Tomorrow Lands," Clary said, recognizing the English.

"Good. Yes, festival. You be host with me."

"I have to host it?" Clary asked. "I don't know much Idrisian, I'm not sure if I'll do a very good job-"

"You be fine. I help you," Jace said firmly.

Clary nodded. "Alright. I'll try my best."

"I fetch Isabelle. You help you get ready. Be out before dark." Jace said, gesturing towards the castle. Clary frowned at him, confused. The sun was high at in the sky, glowing warmly. The sweat on her forehead had long dried up, though her hair remained damp.

"It's midday. How long do I possibly need to prepare?"

* * *

Clary grunted like a beast as Isabelle pulled at the string around her waist. "Isabelle," she said through gritted teeth, sucking her stomach in. "I can't breathe."

"Grab the bed post," Isabelle suggested, pulling on the ribbon. "It needs to be a bit more tighter."

Clary grabbed the bedpost with both hands, gasping as Isabelle yanked, pulling the breath out of her body. "Just. A. Bit. Tighter," Isabelle growled out, leaning backward. "Almost. There." Hanging onto the bedpost for dear life, Clary bit down on her lip, almost to the point where she drew blood.

"Done!" Isabelle announced, finally letting go. Clary breathed a sigh of relief, or at least tried to; she felt like her waist was being choked by a giant hand.

"Could you make it a bit looser?" She asked Isabelle, wincing as she leaned against the bed.

Isabelle sent her a look. "It's supposed to be like that Clary. When I first wore one, I couldn't eat anything for the night. Now come here. You look great."

Clary hobbled over, keeping her back as straight as possible. She looked at herself in Isabelle's mirror.

She was wearing traditional clothing of the Idrisians, what was called a _godin rok_. It was gathered at her waist, flowing around her ankles. It showed off her bare shoulders, dipping down to reveal cleavage she never even knew she had. It was dark red, stained like blood. She was wearing what was called a gordel around her waist, which she guessed was a belt.

Part of it dropped down, while a gold clasp held it in place. Her sandals were white, and her hair was up in a very pretty style, curls falling around her face.

Underneath, she was wearing what she thought to be the Idrisian-version of a corset; it clung to her slight frame, meaning to make the godin rok look more favorable on her.

Isabelle came up behind her, a smile gracing her lips. "I remember Jace's mother wearing this. She was very beautiful."

"Did you know her well?" Clary asked.

"She was like a second mother to me. You would have loved her, everybody did. Jace and his father, especially." Isabelle looked sad, for a brief moment. Then she tried for another smile. "Let's not talk about sad things, not tonight. It's the first day of festivities. The sky goddess and the earth god had a five-day wedding; tonight is the first day of the wedding."

"Five days?" Clary was astonished.

"It's not uncommon among our gods. Now sit back, I'll do your face for you." Clary complied, lying back into her chair.

Once Isabelle was finished, Clary looked at herself. There were red and black stripes on her cheeks, and blue dots on her eyelids.

She was also wearing a dozen gold bands around her neck, which clinked and clanged when they banged against each other.

She was reminded of her wedding night. The dress, the coals, the knife. She touched the pendant on her throat. It still remained there, despite her anger about it.

"You look great," Isabelle said to her. "We should get going. It's before dark."

Clary nodded, falling into step beside her. They walked out of the room, down the now-familiar corridors. They eventually reached the doors, where they stepped outside to join the town people as they talked and laughed with each other. Instead of a bonfire, there were now multiple fires, where people gathered around them. Long tables of food were cluttered around the area, full of delicious meats and other foods. Strings of decorations, made of flowers and feathers, were strung up around the area.

Clary and Isabelle descended down the steps; Clary breathed in the sweet smell of herbs and the smoky smell of fire.

She saw Jace, sitting in a fine throne, the one next to him empty. It was made of metal, with pretty gems twinkling from the armrests and the boarders around it.

The people were looking at her, she could tell. But she squared her shoulders and stood like Isabelle told her to.

She joined Jace, sitting down into the seat next to him. His eyes were on her's, scanning down her body. A muscle in his jaw ticked. His eyes were dark.

She sat herself next to him, on the matching throne. Because of her dress, she was forced to sit upright, her spine straightened out until she was as stiff as a board.

Jace stood, getting to his feet. He raised a hand for silence, and the chatter stopped almost immediately. The crowd gathered around him, mother's clutching children, father's balancing their daughters on their backs.

He was wearing what looked like a red tunic, but revealed his strong, lean legs.

Jace lowered his hand, looking strong and solid and sure as he addressed the crowd. "My mense, ons hier bymekaar, op die grond van pa my pa se, om Die fees van die Môre Lande. Ons is 'n beskaafde en ryk mense, met die skoonheid van die land voor ons. Nou my geliefde Koningin sal praat." He reached out a hand for her, and she accepted, her cold hand wrapped in his warm one.

She felt so many eyes on her, it was unnerving. They were Idrisians. Her people, she realized. That was a strange feeling.

"Just repeat the words after me," Jace's lips were at her ear, whispering as he clutched her hand. Her body was touching his, their sides brushing against each other. He whispered in her ear, in rapid Idrisian. She struggled, but managed to say every word. "My mede-Idrisians, ek u welkom om die fees met 'n groot plesier Die land, wat gekoppel is deur bloed en water onder andere, is ons s'n om te deel. Asseblief, gaan geniet die feesvieringe!" Jace's hand pulled her's up so that their intertwined, hands held above their heads.

The crowd burst into cheers, bustling away to enjoy the food and activities. Clary also noticed there were stalls and such, all filled with toys and sweets among other things.

Clary couldn't help but smile. The entire atmosphere was thriving and alive, the entire air buzzing with a sort of electricity. There were games that the children played, and little boys begging their parents for treats.

A flash of white-blonde hair appeared in her peripheral vision. Clary looked to the side and saw Helen, who stood timidly at the side. Smiling, Clary was about to wave at her friend, but then saw a man suddenly grab her, pulling her behind one of the stalls. Clary's smile dropped like a stone.

Clary felt light-headed, but got up. "I'll be right back," she told Jace, who was quietly conversing with Alec. He nodded distractedly.

She followed Helen, not knowing what she was doing. Why was she doing this? She wasn't sure; her feet were in charge, leading her mindlessly away from her brain.

She turned a corner, and saw Helen down on her hands and knees, her shirt hitched up past her waist. An Idrisian man was preparing to take her, his hands at his pants, grabbing strings with eagerness.

She wanted to throw up, but there was nothing in her stomach.

Helen looked emotionless, but Clary saw a gleam of tears in her eyes. That surged her own.

She walked forward. "Geen." She said in Idrisian, as forcefully as she could say. "She comes with me. Leave her." The words were tumbling out of her mouth before she could stop them.

It was only the respect and fondness of her new friend that forced the words out of her mouth. Perhaps it was also the courage that Jace had given her before.

 _Equals._

The word sounded like a dream in her ears.

The man looked up, anger clear and plain in his hateful dark eyes. That quickly turned to shock as he saw her, backing away quickly. Helen looked up, eyes widened. She was shaking her head.

"Ja, my Koningin!" He was mumbling pathetically, doing up his drawstrings. He bowed once more, scurrying away.

Helen was frozen were she was, eyes locked on Clary. Clary rushed over to Helen, helping her up.

"Are you alright?" Clary asked her, breathless with adrenaline. "Are you hurt?"

Helen clutched at Clary's arm like she was a lost child. "You not should do that. He mad, look maybe for me."

Clary's heart jumped. Was Helen right? Would he feel anger and come back later for her? But however, she couldn't help Helen if she was scared herself. "No, I doubt he will. Did you see his face? I was concerned that he had wet himself."

Helen gasped, laughing as she did so. Her hand covered her mouth, as if trying to hid her laughter.

Clary smiled warmly at her.

"Come, let's enjoy the festivities. I hear there is a jam I must try." Clary said, linking her arm with Helen's. They walked out from behind the stall together, Clary pulling Helen along. The girl seemed reluctant to go, and told her so.

"Pe-ple not want see whore with Koningin, Kar-wey," Helen explained to her.

"Helen, don't call yourself, please. And I doubt the people like me very much anyways." She tugged on Helen's arm. "Come on, Helen, please. Let us not let other people ruin our fun."

Helen reluctantly followed her; they wandered into the crowd, becoming part of the stream of people. Clary heard music from somewhere, strange, unfamiliar music that she had not heard before. It was beautiful, she reckoned.

Children ran past them, giggling, laughing as they chased each other. The stalls were bright, holding cloth and silks and pretty charms. One neatly dodged her.

"Konining!" A tinkling voice came out behind her. She turned, and saw little Nadine rushing up to her. Clary smiled and clutched her cold little hands.

"Hello Nadine," she said, kneeling down to meet with her. It was difficult with her outfit, but she managed. "Hoe gaan dit?" She asked.

"Be-ry goode," Nadine said shyly. "Nice."

She remembered the words. Clary was extremely impressed.

"That's wonderful. Do you like the festival?"

"Hou jy van die fees?" Helen said flawlessly.

Nadine nodded at her, with big doe eyes. "Very boo-tifal."

"It is, very much so."

Nadine smiled. She held out something in her hand. It was another flower. It's petals were folded in irregular patterns, silky layers over silky layers. It was a brilliant pale red. Nadine gave it to Clary, who took it. It was a simple gift, just like the one before, but it touched Clary.

"Dankie, Nadine," Clary said, patting her head affectionately.

Nadine giggled; she reached out a hand to touch Clary's nose. "Be-ry goode," Nadine said again. Clary laughed this time with her. She then noticed a group of children behind her, all looking at Nadine with amazement.

"I think your friends are waiting for you," Clary whispered to her, nudging her gently. "Run along." Nadine gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then ran away to join her friends.

Clary rose to her full height, suckig in her stomach once more. Helen cast her glance. "You good with child. Want one own?"

Clary went red. "Oh, no, not yet. I do adore children, and perhaps one day I will have them, but not now," she explained to Helen. "Not in my situation." Would she want her child to come into her world, with the people around her?

She wasn't sure.

Helen sensed her distress, and quickly pulled at her arm. "Let go us. Pretty silk and nice clothes there over."

Clary mustered a smile. "Alright, then."

They threaded through the crowds, looking for stalls. They gathered at one, where a man was yelling in Idrisian. "Kom, kom, koop my mooi juweliersware! Manne, koop 'n juweel vir jou kosbare vroue, maak haar gelukkig met 'n diamant! Kom, koop my kosbare items! Jy sal nie spyt wees nie spyt!"

"What is he saying?" Clary whispered to Helen.

Helen laughed. "He try to sell jewel to man, make wife happy. Convince pe-ple to buy."

Then the man caught sight of Clary. He was small and mousy, with light brown hair. His eyes lit up as he beckoned her forward. Clary walked forward, hesitant but still smiling.

"My queen! My Koningin! I am just a humble man, by the name of my father's father's name, Benjil, but the Gods themselves must have smiled upon me to grant me the gift of your sight! You re truly as beautiful as they all say!" He was bowing deeply, like a townsman would have done to his king. His accent was lovely, lilting and curving at the end of his words.

Clary smiled upon his flattery, feeling her cheeks color with his compliments. "Please, rise, the honor lies with me."

"Oh, so humble, as well as beauteous! No jem upon this earth would match your greatness!" A crowd had gathered, whispering and talking amongst themselves. "However, there is one that comes close, my Koningin, one that I will grant to you as a gift."

"Oh, please, I couldn't-" Clary protested.

"No, no, I insist," he said, scurrying through his things, rifling through his various bags. He drew out a small package, a bag of diamonds, and represented them to her. He got down on one knee, and gave them to her. She took them reluctantly, opening the bag. Inside were beautiful green emeralds, about two handfuls worth. Clary caught a gasp in her throat.

"Oh, thank you, Benjil, this is a wonderful gift. I owe you many thanks for this," Clary smiled at him.

He bowed down even lower. "My pleasure, of course, my queen, my absolute pleasure."

"I owe you something, my friend, or I would feel terribly guilty."

"No, no at all my Koningin. You have bestowed all the worth of diamonds with your mere presence."

"Very well. Your flattery becomes you, Benjil." Clary smiled at him once more. She turned to Helen, who was grinning at the entire exchange. An idea formed in her head. She grabbed about half the diamonds in her bag, careful not to spill it. She removed the snatch from her belt, and poured the emeralds into it. She handed it Helen. "Here, Helen. Have half."

Helen stepped backwards, her eyes wide. "No, no. I-I can not take."

"Please, Helen. You have been a very kind friend to me here, and I owe you for taking care of me the other day. It's the most I can do," Clary pleaded.

Whispers exploded around her, harsh words that stung her ears. The crowd were judging, watching her. She kept her shoulders straight, back firm.

Benjil came forward, eyes concerned. "My Koningin, these emeralds are for like fine women like yourself, not foreign wenches like this."

Anger stirred inside of Clary when she heard this. She turned to the man, coldness in her eyes. "That _wench_ , is my friend, and I will not have you speak to her in that way."

He cowered almost immediately, and Clary felt bad. She wanted to apologize, but held herself firm.

The whispers became louder.

Helen was almost shaking, trembling. Clary grabbed her hand, and towed her away from the crowd. They walked away they reached an empty stall. She pulled Helen into it, hands on her shoulders. "Helen, please, this is your chance. To get out of there, start a life in the community." She pushed the bag into Helen's hands. "This is your way out of here."

Helen was shaking her head furiously. "No, I couldn't, please, Kar-wey-"

"You must." Clary said firmly. "You can live like you've always wanted to. Buy a farm, marry a handsome man, bear beautiful children. Please, this is for me as it is for you."

Helen stayed silent, tears falling down her face, streaking her cheeks like rain.

"Helen, I beg you. I will get down on my knees and beg."

"What man want me?" She asked in a hushed tone.

Clary went still. "Any man would be lucky to have you-"

"No, Kar-wey. I whore. No deny, my Koningin. Born whore, die whore."

"No, that's not true. I can't allow that. Take it, please, Helen. Take it."

Helen was silently sobbing now, tears falling down her face like waterfalls. Clary took the bag and gently tucked it into Helen's pocket. Helen threw her arms around her and sobbed, crying until the moon rose high up into the night.

Helen whispered her thanks all night long.

And for once, Clary felt like she was doing something right.

* * *

 **Translation:**

 **1\. (Jace's speech) My mense, ons is hier versamel vanaand, op grond van my pa se pa se ons mees geliefde fees te vier. Ek roep ons gode, ons goddeses, om ons dae en ons toekoms seën. Mag ons leef in voorspoed, ons kultuur ryk en lang, ons kastele vir ewig! - My people, we are gathered here tonight, on my father's father's land, to celebrate our most beloved festival. I call upon our gods, our goddesses, to bless our days and our futures. May we live in prosper, our culture rich and long, our castles to last forever!**

 **2\. (Clary's speech) My mede-Idrisians, ek u welkom om die fees met 'n groot plesier Die land, wat gekoppel is deur bloed en water onder andere, is ons s'n om te deel. Asseblief, gaan geniet die feesvieringe! - My fellow Idrisians, I welcome you to the festival with great pleasure. The land, tied by blood and water among other things, is ours to share. Please, go enjoy the festivities!**

 **3\. (Benjil) Kom! Kom, almal! Koop 'n mooi juweel vir jou liefdes, om julle vrouens gelukkig maak! Kom, pragtige dames! Behandel jouself om 'n mooi diamant! Kom, versamel by my stalletjie vir die beste genot! - Come! Come, all! Buy a pretty gem for your loves, to make your wives happy! Come, beautiful ladies! Treat yourselves to a pretty diamond! Come, gather at my stall for the best delights!  
**

 **Yay! Clary has a backbone! I'm happy.**

 **Please read and review on!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	8. Chapter 8 (Twas Jealousy That Killed)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 8. Twas Jealousy Who Killed**

 **Hi guys:**

 **VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION! PLEASE ANSWER:**

 **SHOULD I PUT THE TRANSLATIONS BELOW THE SCRIPT, OR AT THE BOTTOM OF THE PAGE?**

 **Okay, then, thank you for all of your reviews!**

 **Please enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 8.**

 **-Clary-**

There was absolutely nothing to do.

Clary was bored out of her mind, left to her thoughts. It was the end of the festival, a beautiful whirlwind of color and brightness. She did speeches in Idrisian, met more people in the village and had generally had an amazing time. Her skin was glowing from spending so much time outside, and she had never felt...more, in her life. She felt amazing, like she was flying. Like she could conquer the world if she pleased.

There was no one following her around, telling her how to behave or act, or a Jonathon there to try ruin her day.

She simply hung around with Isabelle or Helen, laughing and drinking from massive goblets that she could barely hold, drinking sweet grape juice.

She ate rich, divine food until she felt like she would burst.

She played with little Nadine and her friends, who would look at her with awe. They would take her down to the river, where she would lift up her dress and splash around in the water with them. She would laugh and run until she was breathless, laughing and laughing until she couldn't breathe.

And Jace seemed happy for most of the festival, where he laughed with Alec and the other Idrisian men, drinking red wine until most of them stumbled way drunk.

Jace and Alec seemed sober most of the time. Clary still felt her eye twitch when he drunk, but he seemed to have it under control.

Besides, his words have given her some comfort.

As did the dagger that was resting against her thigh.

Cool yet comforting.

The five days of festival were over as soon as they started. The second day was more like a ceremony, where the women danced around the river, singing a song. The other people just sat and watched, amazed as they did so. All of the festivals seem to be held at night, the people setting them up in the morning. When Clary had asked Isabelle why it was like that, she told her;

"We have this festival during the nights because before their marriage, there was only night. Darkness, all day, every day. Only few stars at night. Then, the sky goddess, Lugilja, gave birth to a child. She was the Sun goddess, fair as she was beautiful. They named her Suunu. She gave the world light. During the day, she would walk across the sky, journeying to visit her father. When the sun meets the ground, it's said that they are embracing.

"Then, she would journey back to her mother, back to her home. Suunu would give her mother the messages of love from her father. Genya, her father, was separated from Lugilja for punishment when she forged her marriage with him."

Clary was enchanted by the story. It was beautiful, but it was hard to imagine a world of darkness. "How can Suunu walk across the sky everyday, for the rest of her life?"

"Suunu loves the people. She loves to spread her light and her warmth, to the earth, to the people and the creatures who live there."

"How did people see before then?" Clary asked. They were gathering fruits for the festival, amongst the other people who were climbing up trees and picking off fruit.

Isabelle bit into a yellow fruit. "There were the nymphs who helped them, guided them through with the rivers to find food and shelter."

Clary frowned. "Nymphs?"

"They are extraordinary creatures of power and magic, who live in the trees, the ground, the river. They have taught us to love and respect the land. They are the wonder of nature, beautiful spirits with knowledge and fairness."

"Have you ever seen one before?" Clary asked, griping her wicker basket. It was an extremely fascinating story.

Isabelle shook her head, a dark curl falling in front of her face. "Never. No one has, at least not for a few hundred years. They are some that claimed they have seen a nymph, but it was most likely a strange light or nothing at all."

"Where did they go?"

Isabelle shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows? I've heard stories, but I doubt any of it is even true. Some say they've returned to their homes, deeper into the forest, shying away from the people. Others say that they were summoned back to their motherland. It's unsure. Maybe when Suunu bought light to the earth, they became unneeded."

Clary remained silent, mulling over the insane idea of a nymph.

How could one possibly exist?

The three remaining days of the festival were fun; one the third day, they played games, ones Clary hadn't ever heard of before; the fourth, a lighting of candles and murmured prayers; the fifth, a round of fantastic performances by men, women and children. The children were especially adorable, grinning shyly as they danced with flower necklaces. The men had more serious dances, grunting and yelling in Idrisian as they stomped their feet and clapped their hands. The women had beautiful, gentle dances where they swayed their hips and swung their hair.

Clary often caught Jace looking at her once or twice. She couldn't understand him at all. He seemed so reserved, with boulders for walls. He gave away nothing.

Except when he talked about his parents. Isabelle. Alec. Among other things.

The looks alone frightened her, but she managed to tear her gaze away.

Finally, once the moon neared the end of it's journey, the people held hands and chanted. When Clary asked Isabelle what it meant later, she said they were praying to the gods for a long and happy life.

Then, the festival closed with an end.

And now, she was alone in her room. Jace was gone, off with a meeting with some of the Elders. Isabelle was training with Alec. She couldn't find Helen anywhere. So she was sitting on the bed, picking at her nails, wondering what to do.

She wondered how long she would have to wait.

Did she even have to? Surely, she was allowed to go outside the castle by herself.

She couldn't take it anymore. She couldn't possible sit here, on a perfectly sunny day, and wait for another few hours for somebody to come get her. So, she slipped off the bed, finding the floor with her bare feet. She was back into her own dresses, with a halter and puffy sleeves. Her hair was done up in a plait, her pretty circlet placed on her head. She exited her room to find dead silence. There wasn't really anyone else in this part of the castle; according to Jace, this was the king's ward. But still, there was no sound.

She walked down the hall with silent footsteps. She passed the dining room, and went through the main entrance. The guards there nodded at her, moving aside to open the doors.

The sun was out today, bright and vibrant, warming the ground. It really was beautiful.

She then saw a slightly familiar mop of brown hair. He was bending over, hauling water in a bucket. It was Simon, from the stables. "Simon!" She called, walking over.

He looked up, brown eyes widening as he took her in. "Koningin?" He asked, wiping sweat from his brow as he struggled to adjust his rumpled clothes.

She smiled at him. "No, just call me Clary. I just wanted to take Callisto for a ride." She had missed her horse, and loved riding her the last time around.

Simon nodded feverishly. "Of course. Let me go get your horse." He made to leave; Clary followed him.

"Oh, I'll come. I need to learn how to prepare her myself."

Simon blinked in surprise. "Are you sure? It's not very clean in there." He eyed her clean dress with an wary expression. Clary shook her head.

"It's fine. I really don't mind," she promised, sending him another smile. For some reason, she couldn't even try to feel scared of Simon. Perhaps it was because he looked so much more fearful of her, or because of his awkward adolescent movements. He was tall and gangling, and there was a friendly gleam in his soft eyes.

Simon swallowed, nodding his head. He led her inside the stables, guiding her towards Callisto. Clary saw her horse; moving forward, she went to greet her. Callisto nuzzled her neck, sniffing at her hair. Clary stroked her mane. "Hello again, Callisto," she whispered.

"I just have to saddle her up, and she'll be good to ride," Simon muttered. Clary smiled, moving forward.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

...

"And you just finish with the rein?" Clary asked, her chest falling and rising rapidly. She was sweating profusely, drops of perspiration running down her face. The insides of the stables were muggy and warm, smelling like stale wheat and manure. Preparing her horse seemed a lot easier than she thought, but Simon was very patient.

Simon nodded. "Yes, and tighten the cord as well."

Clary did as he said. "Like this?" She asked, pleased with her progress.

Simon offered her a tentative smile. "Yes, exactly like that. Well done, Clary." He stepped out of the stables, giving her space to lead Callisto along. Clary led her outside, pulling the rein.

Simon handed her a carrot. Clary fed it to Callisto, who seemed to appreciate it. They were in silence for a while, listening to Clary's horse chomp down on her carrot. "Where are you going?" Simon asked her.

Clary considered the question. "I'm not sure. Why don't you come with me?"

Simon widened his eyes in surprise. "Me?"

Clary nodded, grinning. "Who else? Besides, I wouldn't really know where to go. And besides, I don't think I'm allowed to go out by myself. You know a lot about Idris, don't you?"

"I-I guess I do," he stuttered.

"That's great!" Clary brightened. "We have to prepare your own horse."

"I don't have a horse," Simon said, looking down, face bright red.

"Oh. Well, maybe you can borrow the Koning's?"

Simon looked up, face pale, eyes frightened. "N-no, I c-can't take the Koning's horse. He would be furious. I don't own a horse. I'm probably not even allowed to ride any of them. Only Idrisian soldiers and nobility can afford to keep horses in the stables."

Clary frowned. "Surely there's one horse you can ride."

"There are the training horses. They aren't that fast, though," Simon said.

"That's good. You can ride that then."

Once Simon had prepped his horse, they began to head off. They exited through the servant's gate. Clary felt delighted as the cool air struck past her, bleaching out her damp hair. Simon's horse, Misque, was a slow but sturdy mare trotted behind Clary, blinking the flies from her sagging eyes.

"Hiyah!" Clary yelled, leaning forward as she urged Callisto on. Her horse snorted, galloping as her hooves met the ground in a frenzy. The wind whipped Clary's plait around, loosening her hair until it was free.

They were on a path, somewhere outside the palace grounds. The land rose and fell, like the surface of a rock, mostly green clearing. Clary laughed, drawing in the fresh air to her lungs.

Free, free, she was free.

Eventually, she decided it was time to stop. She slowed Callisto down; she huffed, skidding slightly. Clary was breathless; she drew in air with shaky breaths.

Simon appeared just seconds later, his horse bumping in her own. Clary pushed herself off, perfecting her landing.

"Wow," Simon said, looking stunned. "That was really fast. You're a great rider."

Clary shrugged her shoulders. "I'm decent, at least for a beginner. I haven't ridden for a while, except for the time I went with Ja- I mean, the Koning." She remembered how she was not allowed to use his name to other people.

Simon nodded.

"It's really pretty out here," Clary said, looking around her. "I've never really seen the highlands around here." She turned to Simon, who was fidgeting with his fingers. "Are you from Idris?"

It amazed her at how open and confident she was with Simon. But she couldn't help it. He was like the best friend she never even had.

Simon just shook his head. "I'm not from Idris. I was captured by Idrisians three years ago while I was on the road. I was brought in as a slave, but the former Koning Jeroki took pity on me and made me stable-boy. My family hasn't seen me since."

Clary stared at him. "I'm sorry," she said in a hushed tone.

Simon just looked blindly down at the ground. Clary didn't know what else to say.

"What were your family like?" Clary asked, glancing sideways at him.

Simon managed a small smile at that. "They were everything to me. My mother was the kindest woman I knew. My father was sturdy, and always kept us going. My sister was compassionate and the best sister I could have ever asked for." He was silent then, brown eyes thoughtful.

"They sound great." Clary cleared the hitch from her throat. "Do you know where they are now?"

Simon shrugged. "Probably back at their village, near the West. Thinking I'm dead."

Clary bit her lip.

He then shook his head, as if he were trying to snap himself out of it. "I'm sorry, Clary, I'm sure there is someone who you'd prefer to talk with. Perhaps you should have bought someone else along."

Clary patted his shoulder hesitantly. "No, not really. It's nice to talk to you. I'm just sorry I had to force you to come."

He beamed at her. "I don't mind. Really."

"That's nice to know," Clary said, sitting down, legs tucked in front of her. "I was beginning to think no one in the village liked me."

"They're afraid of you," Simon explained, looking much more sure of himself as he sat down next to you. "They're scared of foreigners, and they don't understand you."

Clary tilted her head. "They don't understand me? What does that mean?"

"What you did at the festival?" Simon said. "Giving half of your gift from Benjil to the girl?"

"You mean Helen?" Clary asked in disbelief. "I don't understand."

"The women who work at that...place, Clary, have earned no respect from the natives here. They are treated terribly, and are constantly degraded for being what they are."

"That's not their fault!" Clary protested. "Isabelle told me that most of them were foreign women, who were forced there!"

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Simon said, raising his hands. "I'm just stating the what the natives think."

Clary could feel the blood pounding in her ears. "It's so different, Simon. It's not like my home. It's not like anything I've ever seen or read. Everybody keeps on telling me this is what I am, that this is where I belong. Where my home is. But it just doesn't feel like it."

Simon nodded slowly, as if he were agreeing with her. "It doesn't feel like home to me either," he said softly. He mulled over in silence, before speaking again. "What was your kingdom like? Where you came from?"

"It's called Alicante. It's far from here, but I can still see it." Clary gazed off into the distance, imagining seeing the familiar castle walls. "It's based off Roman architecture. The walls are arched and high, with red carpet. It's really beautiful. I think you would like it."

"It's sounds nice."

Clary nodded, the love for her home burning fire in her bones. "It is."

They sat in silence, Clary resting her head against her knees. There was a slight breeze up in the highlands, one that complimented the warm sun. Clary could feel her eyes beginning to droop.

"Tell me, Clary, do you like to be a queen?" Simon asked, voice cutting through her thoughts.

Clary blinked. "What? Do I like to be a queen?"

Simon nodded.

Clary mulled over her answer, thinking of the last few days. "I'm not sure. It's different here, you see. Back in Alicante, being a queen means an entirely different thing. Here, I'm not called a queen, I'm called a Koningin. I feel like a foreigner here. I don't know any of their ways, or how to do anything right. I feel like a fool, really."

"I understand," Simon said. Clary gave him a half-smile.

"You do?"

"Yes, really. When I first got here, I didn't do anything correctly. I didn't comb the horses right, I made food incorrectly and apparently I still don't collect water in the right way." He laughed bitterly.

"Would you go home, if you had the chance?" Clary asked foolishly, knowing the answer.

"Of course." He said without a heartbeat. "I would do anything to get back to my family." He looked closer at Clary. "What about you?"

Clary hesitated, hovering over her answer. "I'm not sure."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, your not sure?"

"Alicante castle hasn't felt safe to me for years," Clary said, avoiding his eyes. "It's just-well, my brother isn't anything like your sister."

Simon frowned at her. "Is he not very nice to you?" Clary's jaw clenched.

 _Her. Screaming in the dungeon, begging Jonathon to let her out. Pleading. Until her throat was ragged, bleeding, for water. His sword at her throat. 'Do as I say. I'll let you eat. I promise.' The bruises on her arms. Everywhere. Everywhere._

"Yes," she said dully. "Not very nice at all."

* * *

They talked for a bit after that. Clary noticed how often he would bring up his sister.

Rebecca. That was her name.

He spoke of her with unwavering affection and fondness, seeming very caring of his older sister. She appeared to be some sort of idol to him. She seemed to have no faults, none at all. Not the way Simon seemed to describe her. She could hardly imagine ever talking about Jonathon in the same light. Really, she wished to could also refer to her sibling like that.

To have grown up with somebody as an equal, to have played and laughed, made good memories.

She was jealous of him and their relationship.

He and Rebecca's.

After, when the sun began to set, they decided to head back. They galloped, Callisto beating Misque by at least a mile. Clary eventually spotted the familiar castle of Idris, and urged Callisto forward. The sun was just setting, shooting out flecks and rays of warm sunlight.

Suunu was visiting her father.

Clary reached the gates, slowing Callisto down. They opened immediately, letting her through. She pulled Callisto over to the stables. There she saw Jace, who looked angered.

She halted Callisto to a stop, just steps away from him. Callisto nickered, head pulling to the side.

Jace looked annoyed; his eyebrows were furrowed, lips a tight line. He eyed her as he approached. Although she was on the horse, he seemed so much more taller than her. "Where you been?" He asked.

Clary unconsciously swallowed. "I-I was out. With Simon," she said, slightly bewildered. What had she done wrong?

As if on cue, Simon arrived behind her, brushing leaves from his hair. "Clary, there was this massive branch that just came out of nowhere-" he looked up, confused, and then saw Jace. He went pale. "My Koning-"

"Leave," Jace barked, eyes growing dark. "Go. Take Koningin's horse too." Clary dismounted as Simon did the same, feeling like a scolded child. She handed the reins to Simon, who took them with his head down.

He walked away, leaving the two of them together.

Clary turned to Jace, who looked downright mad.

"I don't understand what I've done wrong-" she started.

"No. Don't know," he snapped, stepping forward, eyes blazing with anger. Clary resisted the urge to step away, but instead just squared her shoulders. "You, go way for hours, tell no body. You missing, dead, not know."

Clary faltered. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

Jace clenched his jaw shut. "No. Did not realize."

"Alright, I'm sorry," she said, anger gathering in her chest. "I apologized, I'm sorry, I should have told somebody where I was going."

Jace scowled at her, muscled arms crossed against his chest. "Where did you go?"

"I went to the highlands. With Simon," she said, feeling small.

"I could of taken you," he said, his scowl slightly lessening. "Instead of Rat-boy."

This only sparked her rage. "Don't call Simon that. And you were in a meeting with the Elders. I was trapped in your room, bored and waiting for you. I just wanted to go out for a bit," she argued with him, pleased that she was not just backing down.

He grumbled. "Next time, tell someone. Izzy, Alec, don't care."

She stepped backward. "Alright," she muttered, getting off her adrenaline high. "I'll tell someone next time."

Jace still looked grumpy, but marched off, leaving Clary to glare at his retreating figure, wondering what she had done wrong this time.

* * *

 **Love or Hate?**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	9. Chapter 9 (The Scars We Bear)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 9. The Scars We Bear**

 **Hi guys! Hope you liked the last chapter! Per your request, I've put the translations below the language. This chapter has a lot of 'Idrisian' in it, and I hope you like it. Clary grows stronger and stronger by each chapter, and I hope you guys like her becoming so.  
**

 **There is a reveal at the end (shocked face) and it's unsettling, but please read on.**

 **Please read and review!**

 **Hope you likey xx**

* * *

 **Chapter 9.**

 **-Clary-**

Clary woke; yet again, Jace was gone. It seemed to always be like that. However, the room around her slowly became more familiar. She no longer woke up, completely thrown off by the unfamiliarity of the place. It didn't feel like home, but it wasn't totally not amicable. With time, she may be able to become more accustomed to Idris. Possibly.

She rose, changing into a sleeveless dress, preparing herself. She looked back at the empty bed, frowning slightly. Jace still seemed to be mad at her; the cold glances, pointedly ignoring her, his behavior distant. If he was detached before, he was in space now.

When she entered the dining room, there was the familiar scraping of the chairs as the people stood. Clary made her way to her dining chair, where she was seated next to Isabelle and Jace. The latter barely acknowledged her; Isabelle was all sly smiles, looking elegant and sexy as she lounged in her chair, Idrisian soldiers gawking at her.

Clary had gorged herself festival food for the last few days; she still felt full, and didn't spare the food on the table a second glance.

Jace was conversing quietly with Alec in quick, rapid Idrisian, gesturing with his hands. He seemed concerned, which was enough to slightly frighten her.

What could possibly scare the King of Beasts?

Isabelle stabbed a piece of fruit with her fork. "So, Clary," she said slowly, drawing in her attention. "I hear you gave a whore half your gift from Benjil."

"Helen." Clary forcefully corrected her. "Her name is Helen."

Isabelle raised a eyebrow.

Clary looked down at her plate. "Yes, I gave my gift to Helen. I don't understand why it's such a crime here."

"Not a crime, exactly. Just an...unusual thing to do," Isabelle said, studying her with dark, curious eyes.

"Unusual how?"

"I think you know why." Isabelle was right. Clary knew.

"And..." Isabelle drawled, "Another thing I wanted to know."

"What is it?" Clary asked, wary as Isabelle's face went impassive.

"How is it that you can't even look a girl like Kaelie in the eye, but you can stand up to Benjil in front of an entire crowd?" Clary went still, the events of the past day in her mind. At that time, she simply wasn't thinking.

"I-I don't know. I guess I just-"

The table fell silent, suddenly. Clary looked up, to see a nervous-looking boy, around twelve possibly, waiting by the door. He was clutching a piece of parchment in his hands.

"Wat doen jy hier, seun?" Jace asked, looking down at the boy.

 _(What are you doing here, boy?)_

The child cleared his throat. "Ek het 'n boodskap van die dorp, my heer." His dark eyes met Clary's. "Vir die Koningin."

 _(I have a message from the village, my lord.) (For the Koningin)._

Clary turned to Isabelle, who was watching the boy with a crease between her eyebrows. "What is he saying?" Clary whispered to her in a fervent tone. She could just make out a few words, but the word _Koningin_ stood out the most. It echoed around the dining hall, filling the crevices like a curse.

"There's a message for you. From the village," Isabelle said to her in a hushed voice.

Clary frowned, suddenly aware that all eyes in the room where on her. "For me?"

Isabelle nodded slightly.

Clary stood, her chair scraping noisily against the ground. She walked over to the boy, conscious of the many eyes that refused to stray off her. She noticed the boy's eyes dilated in fear as she approached him. _It's okay,_ she wanted to say. _You'll be fine. I won't hurt you._ But she didn't. Instead, she forced a smile in his direction, as if to try reassure him. His hand trembled as he handed her the note.

Taking it, her eyes scoured the parchment, taking in the badly-written English, the messy scrawled script across the page.

 _Carwee,_

 _I meet farm man todae in late mornin time. Too buy house lik youe said. Buy farm. Thank youe Carwee. Reel frend. No peple evr think I do good. You do. Best person I know is you. You will do great things._

 _Helen._

Clary's lips ghosted her name. Helen. She was buying her farm today. Clary frowned, gripping the parchment tighter. Helen wasn't exactly comfortable around other people. However, Clary could help her by being there. She seemed to be able to scare even the strongest of Idrisian soldiers by stepping into a room. Perhaps she would be able to use that to her advantage.

Helen mentioned that she was meeting with the farm men in the late morning. What time was it now?

She touched the boy on the shoulder; he flinched. "Take me to her," she whispered urgently. "Please."

He looked at her confused. She shook the note in her hand in front of him. His eyes lit up with understanding. He gestured with his hand.

 _This way._

She followed quickly. He led her down the corridor; they were nearly at the door, but then-

A strong hand, warm and rough on her skin, grabbed her forearm. She yelped, jumping back to see Jace, looking puzzled.

She discreetly tried to pull her arm from his grip.

"Where you going?" He asked in a low voice. The young boy stepped closer to Clary, clutching her arm.

She went blank for a second. She hadn't told him anything. Just ran out of the room like a madwoman. "I-I was just going down to the village," she said slowly to him, steadying her resolve. "My friend is going to buy a farm. I need to be there with her."

Jace considered this, golden eyes hard, unreadable. Clary held her breath, the boy unconsciously gripping her arm tighter.

"Okay," he said, releasing her arm. "I come with you."

Clary frowned. "I don't need you-"

He then shot her a look that silenced her almost immediately. "I come, or you don't go."

Clary repressed the urge to scowl at him. "Fine. You can come." He seemed satisfied, and nodded. Clary smiled at the boy again, who let go of her arm, flushing. He led the two of them down to the gates, through the village until they reached a small hut on the village. There were fields stretched out beyond that, flat plains with upturned dirt. It was for farming, Clary guessed. Agriculture.

Clary turned to the boy, smiling at him. "Dankie," she said softly, patting his shoulder. "Gaan huis toe."

 _(Thank you). (Go Home)._

She put to use what little Idrisian she knew; the few scant words she had learnt over the past few days. However, the boy seemed to understand her bad pronunciation, and nodded shyly. He grinned tentatively, yet boyishly at her.

He turned, ready to walk away.

"Wag," Jace called after him, pulling out a small, woolen pouch that was attached to his pelt. "Vir jou gesin."

 _(Wait). (For your family)._

He tossed the bag to the boy; he caught it, the contents clinking as he did so. Clary could only imagine what was in there. The boy, however, looked down at the bag with utter amazement. He was bewildered, flushing as he gripped onto the bag.

"Dankie, my heer," he stammered, bowing his head.

Jace smiled; not an arrogant smirk, but a proper smile, full of teeth. He mussed the boy's head of dark hair. "Gaan."

 _(Go)._

The boy scrambled away, clutching the pouch like it was worth all his life.

Clary stared at Jace; in shock, amazement, she couldn't tell. He looked at her, eyes hardening again. "Let's go," he said in a gruff voice. Clary nodded dully. He opened the door, forcing his way through. Clary followed, with haste to her pace.

The inside of the office smelt worse than the stables; Clary found herself gagging at the scent. It was small, with tables cluttered with parchment and such. A long table sat in the middle of the room. Helen was seated in a wooden chair, her entire body tense, her back to Clary and Jace. A greasy-looking man stood near her, a smirk on his face. His hand was touching Helen's breast, fondling it.

Jace closed the door with a loud bang. The man looked up, irritated, but his eyes widened in fear as he scrambled backward, away from Helen.

Clary grabbed Helen's arm, pulling her away from the man. She shoved Helen behind her, shielding her. Jace's eyes were like steel; they flashed with a barely concealed rage. His jaw clenched, eyes narrowed.

The man cowered, like a frightened animal. "My Koning, my Koningin!" He whimpered.

Clary glared at him, her arm out by her side, guarding Helen who clutched at her shoulder.

Jace never looked taller. Or scarier. The man seemed like a shrimp compared to him. "Kyewan," Jace said sternly, crossing his muscled arms against his chest.

The man, Kyewan, was small, mousy man with large front teeth and beady black eyes. Clary couldn't help but dislike him intently. She took another step towards Helen. Jace pulled up Helen's chair, setting it in front of Kyewan's table. His hands were on his legs; he leaned forward as Kyewan scrambled backward to find his own seat, plush and leather.

Jace raised an eyebrow. "Waar is jou maniere? Trek 'n stoel vir my vrou en haar vriend op."

 _(Where are your manners? Pull up a chair for my wife and her friend)._

The man went bright red, flustered as he sprung out of his seat, apologizing profusely. He grabbed two seats, placing them carefully next to Jace. Avoiding eye contact, Kyewan scurried back to his seat like an injured rat. Clary and Helen slowly took their seats, Clary's eyes never leaving Kyewan's.

Jace had never looked more terrifying to Clary. However, for once, she was glad. She was actually pleased that he seemed to have some sort of stupendous hold on his people.

He leaned forward his his chair, golden muscles rippling as he did so. "Kom ons vat die saak ter sprake," Jace said to the man with gruffness in his voice. "Helen, bespreek met die man wat jy wil hê."

 _(Let us get down to the matter at hand. Helen, discuss with the man what you want)._

Helen nodded unsurely, clasping her hands together. "Ja, my koning. Ek wil graag 'n plaas koop, langs 'n klein hut."

 _(Yes, my king. I would like to buy a farm, alongside a small hut)._

Clary grasped Helen's hand, squeezing it in her own. Helen smiled weakly at her.

Jace nodded. "Baie goed. Het u die middele om u eise te betaal?"

 _(Very well. Do you have the means to pay for your demands?)_

"Ja, my heer," Helen said, pulling out a small leather bag. Clary recognized it as the bag she gave to Helen at the start of the festival. It was the one full of emeralds. Helen carefully gave it to Kyewan, who took with greedy fingers. He looked inside; Clary couldn't read his expression.

It was seconds before someone spoke again. "Wel?" Jace asked impatiently. "Is dit nie genoeg vir jou nie?"

 _(Well?) (Is that not enough for you?)_

The man shook his head. "Ek vra my verskoning, my koning. Om egter landbougrond en 'n huis te kry, sal dit nie genoeg wees nie."

 _(I apologise, my king. However, to be granted farmland and a house, this will not be enough)._

Jace grunted in response. "Jy het een van my mans 'n huis en landbougrond vir die helfte van daardie bedrag gegee. Moenie vir my sê dit is nie genoeg nie, want ek weet dit is meer as so."

 _(You gave one of my men a house and farmland for half that amount. Do not tell me it isn't enough, because I know it's more than so)._

The man paled. "Ja Koning-"

Jace shook his head, holding up a hand for silence; Kyewan fell on his words, closing his mouth.

"The man say it not enough," Helen whispered to Clary.

"Not enough?" Clary said harshly to the man. "I gave her the emeralds as a gift." She stood, reaching for the leftover emeralds in her pocket. "Have this," she almost snarled at him, flinging it towards him. "That should be enough."

Jace put out an arm, restraining her. "It okay," he said to her, not unkindly. Clary met his eyes. She nodded slowly, taking her seat.

"Hoekom is dit nie genoeg nie? Hoekom kan jy haar nie toelaat om grond te besit nie?" Jace asked.

 _(Why isn't it enough? Why can't you allow her to own land?)_

Helen whispered the translation into Clary's ear.

"My heer, ek bedoel geen oortreding nie. Maar natuurlik sou sy minder in staat wees om ons gewasse te versorg," the man replied nervously, fiddling with his dirty fingers.

 _(My lord, I mean no offence. But of course, she would be less capable of taking care of our crops)._

Jace frowned, leaning back into his chair. "En hoekom sou dit wees?"

 _(And why would that be?)_

The man blanched, but looked confused all the same. "Natuurlik is sy net 'n vrou, my heer."

 _(Of course, she is just a woman, my lord)._

Helen swallowed, whispering the words into her ear. Clary glared at him with hatred certain in her gaze.

"My ma besit plase," Jace snapped, clenching his fists. He was angrier than Clary had ever seen him before. "Sy was so goed soos enige ander man, miskien selfs beter. Bedoel jy om die voormalige koningin te beledig?"

 _(My mother owned farmlands. She was as good as any other man, perhaps even better. Do you mean to insult the former queen?)_

The man gasped. "Nee, glad nie my Koning! Duisend verskonings, geen gebrek aan respek was my heer bedoel nie."

 _(No, not at all my lord! A thousand apologies, no disrespect was intended my lord)._

Jace nodded, clapping his hands together as if the matter was resolved. "Uitstekend. Gee Helen die dade op haar plaas. Die beste daar is."

 _(Excellent. Give Helen the deeds to her farm. The best there is)._

Kyewan shook his head up an down, frantically. "Ja, my heer." He raced off into another room, nearly tripping over himself to get there.

Then it was just the three of them.

Helen was looking down at her feet in disbelief; Clary watching the door through which Kyewan disappeared; Jace, simply sat motionlessly in her chair.

Clary felt as if she should say something. She just cleared her throat. "Thank you, Jace. For everything you've done."

Jace grinned at her. "S'okay. Kyewan bad man, alway have been."

"Thank you, my lord," Helen whsipered, clutching at Clary's hand. They were ice-cold, clammy with seat and fear. Clary gripped them.

Jace nodded. "Moenie my laat val nie."

 _(Don't let me down)._

Helen nodded earnestly. "Ek belowe dat ek nie sal nie."

 _(I promise I won't)._

Kyewan returned, with parchment in his hands. He set them down in front of Jace, who stood up, gesturing at Helen to take his seat. She did so, nervously but with a confidence Clary had never seen her with before.

Helen squared her shoulders, pulling the parchment towards her.

"Wat moet ek weet?"

 _(What do I need to know?)_

Clary smiled at her.

* * *

It was late afternoon when they finally got out of Kyewan's smelly room. The sun was an oasis, bleeding out it's bright colors into the sky. Helen had been ushered off by a kindly old woman who helped manage the place; she was showing her around the farmland. Clary promised to have her things delivered to her by the next day. Now, she and Jace were walking back to the castle in a peaceful silence.

She wasn't sure of anything anymore. He had given the boy a gift. Helped Helen claim land.

He wasn't a savage.

Not exactly.

She thought of all the people in chains, screaming young woman, blood dripping down their faces, staining the ground bright red.

Confusion spun her thoughts in an endless weave.

She didn't know what to say to Jace. She had thanked him, numerous times, but it didn't seem like enough.

He was a good king.

That was really all Clary could make out from all of it. He stood up for his people, respected them. While Jonathon treated his people like the dirt on his riding boots, Jace seemed to genuinely care. He didn't seem to mind that Helen had been occupied by the whorehouse, or that she was a woman, but had simply treated her with respect. That she deserved to own land as much as a man did.

She shook her head, snapping herself out of it. She saw the castle up ahead, looking glorious in the dark sunlight.

"What wrong?" Jace asked in a low voice, looking down at her.

Clary manged a weak smile. "Nothing."

Jace looked at her closely. "Really?"

"Yes. I'm fine. I'm really grateful to you, Jace. You did for Helen what I couldn't do for her."

"You mean scare Kyewan?" Jace asked, a laughing edge to his voice. "He is coward, Clary. You scare him, you back him into cage."

"No, you stood up for her. Defended her," Clary said. "She was scared."

"You took care of her," Jace said in a quiet voice.

"I had to. She didn't deserve to be in that place, you know."

"Do anybody?"

Clary blinked, surprise running though her body. "You don't want a whorehouse?"

"No."

"Then why don't you? Your the Koning," Clary said, anger lighting through her veins. They were in the castle grounds now, steps away from the doors. Jace faced her, eyebrows furrowed.

"Not that easy, Clary. Warriors will protest, say they deserve good fucking after fight. Can't stop. No fight between me and my people."

"What about the women in there?" Clary argued, her fingernails digging into the palm of her hands.

Jace stared at her with a hard expression. "This our way of life. We live like this for years and years, Clary. No stopping."

Clary gripped her dress sleeves, crossing her arms over her chest. "Perhaps Kyewan isn't the only coward in Idris."

Jace glared at her, frowning, but Clary refused to feel fear. "You-"

Then, her dress tore at the seams. Clary gasped, stepping backward, horrified that she had ruined her dress. She had been gripping the material far too tightly. She looked up at Jace, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking down at her body, with a shocked expression on his face. He reached out a hand, hesitantly, but Clary snatched herself away.

"Clary-what-" he stammered, looking unsure for once as he examined her.

Clary looked down, confused, and almost stopped breathing.

Oh no.

Her scars.

Written out in messy words. Cut into her body, a stain that would never go away.

 _Jonathon._

Jace looked stricken. He was pale with shock and confusion. "What-?"

Clary shook her head frantically. "No. Don't ask, please." She turned, her head feeling light-headed and her breaths shaky.

She turned and walked away, as calmly as she could manage.

But her vision was blurred with tears.

She could feel the cuts burning through her skin.

J-O-N-A-T-H-O-N.

All there.

Every day.

* * *

 **Did you like it? I know I did. Or, at least, I think I did. Just kidding!**

 **Please review!**

 **Love you all!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	10. Chapter 10 (What Must Remain But In)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 10. What Must Remain But In Our Past**

 **Yay! We reached double-digits! I'm so happy! Thank you for your amazing reviews, they all made my day. Now, in this chapter, it's going to be part one of the flashbacks to Clary's past. I hope you like this, I worked really hard on it. Please enjoy, everybody.**

 **I'm so sorry there's no Clace in this, I'm sad too :( but I have to elaborate on her past.**

 **Please enjoy!**

 **Love you all!**

* * *

It was a warm night, sleep dripping like the maple off a tree. Even the moon could barely keep stay awake; the silvery crescent was now a drooping eyelid, glowing high up in the ink-black sky. Yet, the true-bred, prosperous kingdom of Alicante held their breath in bated silence, all wide-awake. There was little doubt that many would sleep well tonight.

Masses of people waited outside the castle, holding candles. Occasionally, hushed whispers would break out across the crowd, but were almost always silenced.

Of course, these urgent, hushed words that sprung from the townspeople's lips were centered around one woman, and her current predicament.

The Queen was pregnant.

And tonight, she was giving birth to her second child.

In a mere few hours, Alicante would be given a future king or queen; the thought was hung above the crowd's head like a threat.

The hour grew dark; most mothers had hauled off to their houses, eager to tend to their children who were oblivious to the circumstances.

The crowd grew restless, becoming louder and more impatient. They had to rise early in the mornings, to tend to their farms and help provide food and shelter for their families. It was only the admiration and the deep-rooted respect that they held for their beloved rulers that had them out here, sweltering in the heated night air.

Inside the castle, however, the strain and tension there could crack through the roof. The servants scurried around the castle halls like frightened mice, barely finding the effort to converse with each other. Though, the castle was grand in both size and magnificence, it was hard to ignore the wretched screams that came from the king's quarters.

The man himself was pacing right outside his wife's room, wearing a hole in the plush, red carpet. With each heart-wrenching scream that resounded from his beloved, the king squeezed his eyes shut, uselessly attempting to block out the pain.

Men were forbidden from entering the woman's private sanctuary during the birth, but the king, Valentine, looked ready to rip the door off and march into the room himself.

Another wail of pure exhaustion and pain. Valentine swallowed, gripping his head in his hands.

Though Valentine had been through the same experience before, with his eldest Jonathon, there was nothing worse than reliving it. Valentine was usually a collected man, but he was about to lose his sanity.

Death during childhood was nothing but uncommon. His aunt and sister had both had stillborn infants the first time around, but died after their second child.

Valentine would sacrifice his crown, his palace, all his riches, if only he could see his beloved wife live through this night.

Yet again, another yowl that struck the wearied king right down to his bones. He slumped into a chair, head in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut. _Please,_ he begged to the Lord, _let her suffering end. May she live to see just another day._

Now, that he felt on the edge of oblivion, so close to losing her, he could feel every kiss, every gentle caress, every glance shared seemed all the more so precious.

"Father?" A soft, timid voice asked Valentine; though, slightly scared,it was steeled with the stubbornness and determination that ran through the veins of all Fairchilds.

Valentine looked up, meeting the sea foam green-eyes of his four-year-old son, Jonathon. He was tall for his age, and had a healthy glow of a strong young boy to him. He was fair, and had already captured many hearts in the kingdom. He was hovering near the edge of the hallway, grimness smearing his features.

"Yes, my son?" Valentine said distractedly, at least attempting smiling softly at the young boy.

"Is mother going to be alright?" Jonathon asked, never looking smaller in his life. Valentine would never forget the first time he had held Jonathon, so very small and fragile to the harsh wonders of the world. Large, sharp eyes that gleamed with understanding, a small tuft of white hair, a button nose.

However, Jonathon unnerved him. Valentine loved Jonathon as his son, but there was a slightly chilly vibe that centered around him.

Valentine could do nothing but try and smile reassuringly at him. "I promise, Jonathon. She's going to be fine, I swear it on my life."

He hoped that he was not lying to his own son.

Jonathon loved his mother; he was much more loving and open with her. He would often lean in to try to get her attention, yearning for any type of affection that she could afford.

It would destroy him if she were to pass to the grave.

Then, Bryta appeared around the corner, only one or two streaks of silvery grey combed into her neat brown hair. Bryta had raised him, and was one of the only woman, besides his wife, who could tell him what to do.

Bryta looked at Valentine, maroon eyes softening. She also understood the request that lingered in his eyes. She took Jonathon by the hand, grasping it. "Come along now, Mater Jonathon. It's time we got you to bed."

Jonathon's intelligent eyes refused to leave his father's. After a heartbeat, he nodded slowly, allowing Bryta to lead him away. Valentine watched him go, fear threatening to tear his heart apart.

However, he had to be strong.

For his wife.

For his unborn child, who he was overjoyed at the fact that he was being blessed with a second child.

It seemed like a miracle. Until now, where his wife's life hung in balance.

Yet again, another scream resounded. It sounded hoarse, yet was filled with more distress. Every wail pulled at his delicate heart; it sent panic clawing at his spine. He was certain that he couldn't live without his beautiful wife.

Just steps away, Jonathon glanced behind his shoulder, eyes darkening as his expression turned unreadable. He may have been young, but he understood the dire situation.

Bryta squeezed his hand, her eyes gentle as she led him to his room. "It'll be alright, my dear. Now, let's try to get a good night's rest, all right," she said in a forced, cheerful voice. Yet, she couldn't manage to hide the underlying factor of fear in her voice.

Jonathon said nothing.

Valentine felt the tremulous hours press down on him; with every minute that passed, he could feel another wrinkle appear on his forehead.

The wait was unbearable.

The screams had ceased; his ears were straining to make out any sort of noise.

Then, as if his prayers was answered, the door opened. A midwife came through; Valentine couldn't read her expression. He stood, smoothing his robes as his heart beat frantically in his chest. The midwife, Sarah, bowed in respect. "My king," she said in acknowledgement.

"Sarah," Valentine said as calmly as he could manage. His palms felt sweaty. "How is my wife?" The question hung in the air like a threat.

Sarah paused, as if contemplating her answer. "The queen is well, your Majesty," she said, smiling reassuringly. She was one of the more older midwives, respected for her experience in childbirth. Age marked her skin, grey streaking through her hair. "She is tired, extremely so, but is doing well. Congratulations, my lord. Your new child is a little baby girl."

Valentine felt overwhelming sensations; the first, at the immediate relief of his wife's safety, the second, at the news of his newborn infant.

His breath hitched. _A little baby girl_. Just like he had dreamed about. He couldn't wait to meet his child.

"When can I see her?" Valentine asked, feeling much like an overexcited child.

Sarah smiled knowingly

"Whenever you like, your Majesty." Valentine rushed passed her, pushing the doors open.

The room smelt like musky, like blood and sweat. However, there was the powerful, overlapping scent of herbs and flowers that flooded Valentine's senses. His eyes were trained on the bed, where his tired but cheerful wife lay. Sweat dripped down her face, her hair mangled. The sheets were freshly changed, all evidence of childbirth gone. His eyes scoured for a tiny infant, hunting frantically.

He rushed to her bed, kneeling down, grasping her clammy hands. "My love," he whispered, kissing her forehead.

Jocelyn smiled, exhausted. "Good tidings, my king." She reached out, to caress his cheek.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, stroking her hands with as much gentleness as he could manage.

Jocelyn laughed softly. "Tired, but I'm doing well. It was a very few exhausting hours, my darling. But, it was all very much worth it," she said, breathing out in a soft rhythm.

"Where is she?" Valentine asked, eyes searching the room. "Where is our daughter?"

"Phillis went to go clean her up. Oh, Valentine, she's amazing," Jocelyn gushed. "She's absolutely brilliant. She has these big green eyes, and almost a full head of red hair. She's beautiful. I love her so much already, Valentine. Just as I did with Jonathon."

Valentine smiled at her. "I cannot wait to meet her."

Jocelyn nodded vaguely. Her eyes were slowly closing. Valentine stroked her forehead; however, it was only then that he realized something was wrong. She was unusually cold, her body shivering. Valentine's eyes widened, panic fluttering through him. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes closed.

"Jocelyn?" He asked in a frantic whisper. He gently shook her. "Jocelyn?"

He felt for her pulse. It was barely there, flickering to life every few seconds. Panic rose in his throat.

"Jocelyn!" He cried out like a wounded animal. "Please, my love!"

His wife barely even stirred.

"Sarah, Phillis! Please, the queen, s-she's, she's ill, come in! Hurry!" Valentine yelled, standing up, shouting at the top of his lungs. There was a flurry of panic outside, rushed footsteps.

Tears were gathered in his eyes, threatening to spill. Then, Jocelyn grabbed his arm. He looked down, startled but overjoyed. However, his expression changed as he saw the unnatural glow in her shamrock green eyes. He tried to pull his hand away, but her grip was unusually strong.

Her eyes were unresponsive, glowing strangely. "On the third moon of the fifth month, Clarissa Morgenstern was born. She is the direct descendant of the first people's, their power flowing through her veins. Much turmoil in her life, but her pain will strengthen her people. Her shoulders will burden the world, and she will make the impossible decision between life and death. Ave, frater, et dominus noster."

 _(Hail, lord and brother)._

Valentine's mind was racing, struggling to process the words. He was fighting for any sort of sense in Jocelyn's words; possibly hysteria, a fever perhaps from the strain of childbirth.

Jocelyn's eyes were now glowing bright green, looking strangely serene, as if she had been possessed by some strange force.

And with that, Jocelyn gasped in a loud, drawn breath, her shoulders slumped as she collapsed. Valentine, overcome with surprise, rushed to her side, tears tracing uneven paths down his face. He checked for a heartbeat, his own pulse thudding through his veins like thunder.

Nothing.

Not even the faintest beat.

Jocelyn...

His beloved wife was dead. The only woman he had ever truly loved, the one who had challenged him in so many ways.

Valentine cried with no shame that night, sobbing while painful gasps racked his broad shoulders. He cried for his dead wife, for his motherless children, for the loss in his heart. He refused to leave the room as a flurry of midwives rushed into the room, sharing the same stricken expression. He just clutched at her cold, lifeless hand, his mind refusing to process anything.

At midnight, they declared that the queen of Alicante was dead.

Her life taken by her child, who had torn her apart as she came out. It was too late.

And sadly, no one noticed the grieving four-year old who stared at him mother's grave, refusing any type of affection from anybody. Jonathon, just like his father, was in what felt like a never ending pain.

It was doubtful that either that either would ever completely heal.

That night, in Alicante, the people cried for their beloved queen, and her tragic death. Even after that, a sniffle or two was still evident.

As predicted, no one did sleep that night.

* * *

Valentine stood in the throne room, staring out a pillared window. His eyes were haggard and ringed with the past few sleepless nights. His usual clean-shaven face was shadowed with heavy stubble. Even a fool could tell of his misery, of his heavy onslaught of depression. His eyes were rimmed with red, evidence of his thick and long-lasting tears.

The whole kingdom felt his pain. His unbearable pain, burdened with the loss of his wife. The queen, who was loved by so many. But no more than the king himself.

He knew that he had duties to attend to. The king of Idris, or the Koning, as his people referred to him, was threatening to take land unless the deaths of his soldiers were accounted for. They had a truce, until recently, that required them to meet in a mutual area. Valentine specifically remembered the one year old prince, small and strong, with bright blonde hair and matching eyes. The child's was named Alrik, Koning Jeroki had told him.

Valentine had been slightly unnerved by the boy, who's dark gold eyes gleamed of an intelligence that was far too uncanny for his age.

They had sat in the woods, where they ate and discussed business and the terms of the treaty, all in a tense mood. There was bad blood between the two kingdoms.

Valentine was determined to fix the feud between them.

His people called them barbarians.

There had been a hesitant, yet compliant peace between them for a few months. That was until two of Valentine's men had encountered a horde of Idrisians in a strip of land rich with vegetation and ripe for the picking. There was a brawl, with two barbarians dead and Valentine's men were struck dead.

However, it no longer mattered to Valentine.

His wife was gone.

Why should anything matter?

His heart was shattered into a million shards of fragile glass.

It was in that moment, that terrible, vulnerable moment he simply wanted to turn back time and return to the time when he was a youth. When he was young, when nothing much mattered. When he could ogle the pretty handmaidens, drink ale with his friends, sword fight with the knights.

Then, he met an eighteen-year-old Jocelyn, beautiful and graceful. She was fiery, stubborn and had a temper to match his own.

And the rest was history.

He shut his eyes, trying to bleed out his pain. He leaned forward, his forehead touching the cool glass.

How miserable love had made him.

Then, suddenly, a soft knock resounded through the door. Valentine didn't even bother to turn around. "Come in," he said, not recognizing his own voice. The throne room door creaked open, followed by an almost silent pacing of footsteps.

"Valentine." The voice belonged to Bryta, his Nurse and second mother. "There's someone you need to meet."

Valentine turned, slowly, using his throne to brace himself. He seemed to have aged almost twenty years; every movement felt painful to him.

Bryta was wearing an expression of grief, but there was also fondness in her dark eyes. She held a tiny bundle in her arms, swallowed by a fluffy white quilt. It made the smallest of movements, then a soft yawn left it's mouth.

Valentine stared at the infant in Bryta's arms.

His child.

His little girl.

Valentine blinked, as if remembering himself.

"Bring her to me," Valentine said in a hushed voice. Bryta moved slowly, until she met Valentine. He held out his arms, a silent request. Bryta handed the child over; Valentine held his breath, marveling at the moment.

She fit perfectly in his arms.

The first thing he realized; her bright, green eyes. The color of her eyes were identical to her mother's. An enticing, spring-green that reminded Valentine of the fresh sprung grass of the summer.

Then, her vibrant red hair, the one that Jocelyn had described. It looked like fire, writhing and bright as fine silky locks of it, decorating her cherubic face.

Flushed, plump cheeks. A small, button nose. Pouted pink lips.

Valentine clutched the child even tighter. He was in absolute awe. All because of this tiny creature in his arms.

He smiled; the first one in days. One that he truly meant. He collapsed back into his chair, cradling the child with absolute care. He caressed her cheek with a careful motion, tracing the outside of her cheeks. "Hello, my little darling," he whispered, "I'm your father."

She watched him with wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, my little doe, that I have not been around for the past few days." He began to slowly rock her back and forward. "But I promise I will be here for everyday, for the rest of your life."

The baby gurgled, obviously pleased at his words. Her tiny fingers grasped at his skin, warming him down to the bone.

He chuckled. "We have to name you now." Then, suddenly, a name came to him. He frowned, remembering his wife's final words. The name she had stated in her strange, last words.

 _Clarissa._

"I think I know," he grinned, "Clarissa. Isn't that a pretty name?"

Clarissa giggled, squealing.

Valentine laughed; the pain in chest had eased considerably. He led Clarissa over to the window, where the view of Alicante greeted them.

"Isn't it beautiful, Clarissa?" He murmured. "The trees, the hills, the fall and rise of the earth?"

Clarissa was slowly drifting off to sleep, eyes closing gently.

Valentine smiled fondly down at her. His life would be livable. With his two beautiful children. He would charge through each day like an enraged bull, taking on whatever challenge suited best against him. For them.

He watched the sun set, with his daughter in his arms.

A new purpose in his life.

* * *

Jonathon stared at his sister, disdain in his cool green eyes. She was just ripe the age of two, her older brother now six. She had learnt to crawl and was using the entire castle as her playroom. Her father was extremely fond of her, treating her with the most love that a father could offer.

Her wild red hair was curling around the tips, just brushing the start of her spine. A set of baby teeth had also appeared, along with her first word.

'Tissue'.

Valentine had frowned at that, obviously displeased that his name was not first. It eventually was, after 'horsey' and 'tree'.

She was now lying in her cot, playing with her feet, giggling as she poked her toes. Jonathon, who had been in a terrible mood for the past years, was peering over, looking down at his sister. Bryta watched over them, as fond as a real mother would be.

"Well, Jonathon? Isn't she beautiful? Your little sister, Clarissa," Bryta crooned, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. Jonathon shrugged it off; he had refused any sort of affection ever since his mother had died.

Jonathon said nothing. Then, a scowl crossed his features. "No, she isn't. I want her to go away. She's the ugliest thing I've ever seen," Jonathon said tightly, eyes furious.

Bryta looked at him, shocked. "Jonathon! What a wicked thing to say! She's your little sister, young man."

Jonathon's nostrils were flared. "I don't care! I want her gone!"

"Jonathon!" Bryta called, but he was gone in an instant, fleeing the room in a huff. Bryta shook her head in disappointment. She reached to pick Clarissa up, who giggled at the sight of her. "It's all right, my princess,' Bryta said fondly. "He's just worried about losing the attention he had as a single child."

Clarissa blinked.

"Now, my little lady, let's get you to your father. He cant wait to show you off to the kingdom."

Bryta bustled out of the room, clinging the infant close to her body.

* * *

The walls inside Alicante castle were quiet. There was the usual bustling of the servants, cleaning around the palace in an orderly manner, but that was about it.

It had been eight years since the queen's death. The king was still grieving, yet he was content with his merry life. With his daughter, Clarissa. And his son, Jonathon. His pain was there, yes, but it was filled with the joy of his children.

The king was out and about, attending to business elsewhere in the kingdom.

All was quiet.

However, it was then that a loud shriek shot through the halls.

A small, red-headed girl ran through the halls, a bright red apple grasped in her hands. Her green eyes were bright, stormy and full of life. A young girl, possibly around seven or eight. Her short legs were surprisingly fast paced. She was slight yet agile, bounding through the halls with an impossible lightness.

Then, all of a sudden, another figure burst through the doors, evidently chasing Clarissa.

It was Jonathon.

He was reaching near the era of adolescence, with fast body-growth, awkward limbs and growing pains. Around eleven, twelve maybe. He had the sadistic gleam in his eyes, which he had always carried since he was a young boy. He seemed enraged, angry as he took after Clary. Although he was much bigger, she seemed to just outrun him.

He chased after her until he cornered her into a room. Younger-Clary stuck her tongue out at him, waving the apple around in mid-air.

That only seemed to outrage Jonathon even more, as he flared his nostrils like a furious bull.

"Give me the apple, you little brat!" Jonathon snarled at her, eyes narrowed like a snake's.

The castle was now overly-familiar with their spats, their heated arguments. They had never gotten along, and they were not about to start now. The servants would dismissively put it down to simple sibling rivalry.

It had been the day the last of the harvest had come in. The last apple was in the kitchen, and once Clary had decided she wanted it, so had Jonathon. It was the usual fight between siblings; one one wanted something, the other would yearn for it as well.

"No!" Clary said defiantly to him, puffing out her chest. "I got it first, Jonathon. It's mine."

"I'm older than you, you little bitch! I deserve it more than you!" Of course, this is what he used to say to get whatever he wanted.

Clary gasped in disbelief. "I'm telling Father that you swore at me!"

"If you do, I will cut you up and give you to the buzzards!"

"And before you do, I'll feed you to the dragons!"

"You are so stupid, dragons don't even exist!" Jonathon yelled at her, a vein throbbing in his neck.

"Maybe not, but mermaids do!"

"You're so stupid and useless!" Jonathon retorted, anger simmering in his eyes.

It went on for a while, or at least until Jonathon made a pounce for the apple. Clary shrieked, dancing lithely out of his way. He grabbed her arm, squeezing it hard. Hard enough that his nails drew blood. Clary yelped, kicking hard at his shin. He let go, groaning as Clary run away.

He chased her down, right down into the main hall. Clary ran as fast as she could, fear mingling through her features. Then, the doors opened, revealing a laughing Valentine. Clary flung herself into his arms, relief in her eyes. He smiled down at her. "My darling!" He sang, lifting her up and swinging her around. "How are you, my love?"

"Father!" Clary cried, showing him her arm. "Look what Jonathon did!"

Valentine frowned, all traces of laughter disappearing from him eyes. He examined her arm with gentle care. There were marks were Jonathon's fingernails had been; crimson-red blood dripped down Clary's arm.

Valentine looked up. "Jonathon Morgenstern," he said in a firm voice. "What have you done to your sister?"

Jonathon looked impassive. "She started it," he grumbled.

Valentine was a fair and good man, but anger was lit deep in his eyes. "Jonathon, you will never hurt your sister again, do you understand?" He said through a clenched jaw. Clary hid behind him, clutching onto her father's arm, green eyes wide.

Jonathon remained silent, darkened eyes boring into Valentine.

"Understand?"

Slowly, Jonathon nodded.

"Now, apologize to Clary," Valentine ordered.

"I'm sorry, little sister," Jonathon said innocently enough, but his words were dipped in sarcasm. _The calm before a storm._ This was an expression best used to describe the eldest Morgenstern child. He seemed relaxed enough, but there was the underlying sensation of wild, out of control anger.

"Good," Valentine said, an arm drawing Clary out before him. "Now return to your room."

Jonathon retreated, his face completely blank.

Once again, Valentine felt a shiver slice though his spine. There was something off about his son, something Valentine couldn't quite put his finger on. He was always off, never once crying as a child. There were incidents, Valentine knew. Strange occurrences. Servants being fired for strange and twisted things, prisoners missing from their dungeons, only to turn up dead the next day.

He was frightened of his own son.

Of course, no one could ever prove anything. However, Jonathon was always there, off to the side, his head tilted to the side. Green eyes glittering.

Another shudder racked his body.

A small hand tugged at his sleeve. "Father, can we go read a book tonight?" Clarissa asked him, eyes uncaring and bright.

He forced a smile.

"Of course, my little doe. What shall we read today?" He asked, ruffling her hair. His daughter lit up, dragging him over towards the library, blabbering to him about her day as she did so. He tried to listen, but couldn't help look back at the direction Jonathon went in.

He also couldn't help but think that something was not right.

He was extremely suspicious.

That something terrible would happen, if not now, then in the future.

* * *

 **Did you like? Remember, this is only part one. There's going to be part two of her past as well. There's going to be more about her scars in part two.**

 **Read and review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	11. Chapter 11 (Sorrow Tidings)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 11. Sorrow Tidings**

 **Hi guys! Thank you for all of your amazing reviews!**

 **AND IMPORTANT: I UPDATED CHAPTER 3 SO MAKE SURE YOU CHECK IT OUT! It's the river scene, essential for later times.**

 **K thanks. Now, I'm going to talk about this chapter because I'm in love with it. Sorry the other chapter wasn't amazing, but it really is necessary to other parts of the story. There will be a very intimate moment with Clace, and I'm in love with it.**

 **On a second note, does anyone know how to join your story to a community? I wanted to share my story with others and see what they say about it.**

 **Okay, I love you all and I hope you enjoy this story!**

 **Please read and review!**

 **Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 11.  
**

 **-Clary-**

"I don't understand," Isabelle said, frowning as she gutted a fish with her knife. "What did the messenger say?"

Clary grimaced as the fish guts landed at her feet. She scurried away, from a safe distance between both the dead fish and Isabelle's knife. "I'm not exactly sure. But I know for certain that my brother is going to visit in the next full moon."

Clary and Isabelle were seated by the riverbank, hunting for fish. They were using _khaleji_ , a sort of fishing net that was used by the womenfolk. While Isabelle could easily slice her knife through the water and bring back up a squirming fish, Clary struggled to even hold the net steady. It was afternoon, and the sun was weakened, almost diminished by a heavy onset of clouds. Clary had frowned at that. Usually, Idris was simply sun all day. This mild weather was unusual to her now.

"That's only a few weeks away," Isabelle said, wiping her dagger clean on a cloth. She put the fish in a wicker basket, alongside her dozens of other lifeless sea creature. Clary's had nothing in it but an angry crab that had taken a nip at her finger.

"I know," Clary said tightly, her fingers shivering from the cold water that washed over her hands. She was wearing nothing but a light strip of fabric; the wind bit at her skin.

Isabelle looked more closely at her. "You aren't looking forward to it?"

Clary looked down at her trembling hands, shrugging. "I don't know."

Isabelle frowned. "Isn't he your brother?"

"He is. But that doesn't necessarily mean that I love him," Clary said solemnly. The truth was that seeing Jonathon again made her insides coil tightly, a burst of emotion lighting her nerves until they were numb. However, it wasn't just fear, the one she was so accustomed to. It was...resentment. A hatred so deep and gnarled she wondered if it belonged to her.

Isabelle just nodded, as if she understood. "Okay," she said. Then, she looked over, rolling her eyes. "Your not supposed to hold the net like that."

Clary scowled in frustration. It seemed like every woman in the village knew how to fish, excluding her. Half of them were down here now, holding spears and collecting strange looking shells that were glossy and black.

Then, she noticed two familiar figures delicately advancing down the slope.

Kaelie and Aline.

They noticed her and both bore the same smirk as before. They were holding a net, with wicker baskets accompanying their sides. They settled down in a patch of grass, throwing their net into the water.

Clary glanced back at her own net, sadly empty once again.

She sighed in disappointment.

She wasn't cut out for this, for any of it. She couldn't speak Idrisian, she could barely raise her voice, she couldn't throw a spear like Isabelle or even pleasure her husband like everyone told her she was supposed to do. She couldn't possibly be a queen, much less a Koningin.

 _But you saved Helen_ , a tiny voice in her head said.

That was true, she thought. But it was entirely adrenaline, and mostly Jace who had helped her.

A warm hand gripped her arm. "Come on, Clary. Don't let those _tewes_ get to you," Isabelle muttered. "I'll help you, just follow me." She grabbed Clary's arm and adjusted her position, the net going deeper into the water. Clary winced as the cold water lapped at her arms, pinpricks of cool tingles running up and down her upper body.

"What's a tewe?" Clary asked, shifting on her knees, sore from being on the ground for so long.

Isabelle grinned savagely. "A bitch."

They stood there for minutes, waiting. Kaelie had caught a rather large, silvery fish, gloatingly holding it above her head. Aline, beside her, patting her back in congratulations. Kaelie tilted her head, blonde hair sliding down her side.

Isabelle snarled like a feral animal.

Clary tried to reassure her. "Isabelle, really it's okay. Maybe we can just go back to the castle-"

Isabelle was shaking her head. "No. I'm not leaving until you catch a fish. I swear, I'll be here until I'm rotting and grey."

Isabelle had a vicious competitive streak that seemed to run a mile long.

The next few minutes ended with no results whatsoever. Meanwhile, Kaelie and Aline had caught two more fish and a strange six-legged creature.

Clary tried again. "Come on, Isabelle, it's fine."

Isabelle just shook her head again.

However, Clary was now tired and cold, her arms numb as they struggled to keep the net upright. "Isabelle-"

A huge tug on the net snapped Clary out of it. It was so powerful that she was lurched forward, gasping as she inhaled a mouth full of water. Clary and Isabelle were hauled into the water, drenching their dresses. Clary sputtered, coughing violently. The other women looked up, eyes lightened with interest.

"Don't let go, Clary!" Isabelle yelled at her, malice glinting in her dark eyes. "Haul them to the riverbank!"

Clary thought that if she used any more muscle, her arms would fall off. They no longer felt like parts of her body, but attached instruments. Despite that, she pulled. She used very ounce of strength she possessed, drawing power from whatever she could find.

Whatever was caught in the net, it was sure putting up a hell of a fight. It refused to be be pulled away without a struggle; Clary knew that it wasn't just one thing, it was dozens of them. She thought she saw glints of metallic pink, light red visible through the dirt that clouded the water.

They were eventually able to haul up the catch, panting as they did so. In the net, it turned out to be more than a dozen light pink fish, flipping their tails around in a blind frenzy.

For a small moment, Clary felt sorry for them.

But that tiny thought was snatched away by Isabelle collecting her in a fierce hug, laughing as she did so. "Clary! You did it!"

Clary struggled for breath as Isabelle's arms tightened around her like a vice. "Don't you mean we?" She choked out.

Isabelle set her down, cheeks flushed. "Clary, these fish are called salmon. They're extremely rare, and Idrisians love them. It's amazing that we caught this many."

"I know what salmon are," Clary said indignantly. But no one seemed to care as the women around her cheered, rushing forward. For once, they didn't stare at her with any sort of hostility, or confusion. They huddled her in the circle, like she was one of them. Isabelle raised a hand up to the sky, grinning.

"Vanaand eet ons soos gode!" She yelled victoriously.

 _(Tonight we eat like gods!)_

The women cheered, their happiness frenzied in the air like crazed birds. They gathered the food, hauling it off to the village.

Clary and Isabelle stayed behind, gasping for air. Then, a cool breeze rushed through the air, making Clary realize just how cold she was. In fact, her dress was soaked, plastered against her skin. She shivered, drawing her arms around her body.

Kaelie and Aline were glaring at her from across the river, gathering their things. They were whispering frantically to each other, a death stare cementing their features. But this time, Clary just titled her head to the side, mimicking Kaelie's earlier actions. They stalked off, anger following them around like a bad smell.

Isabelle just shook her head, a gloating smile gracing her features. Her hair was plastered to her face, water running down her cheeks. While Isabelle looked effortlessly beautiful, Clary could only imagine how horrendous she appeared.

"Aren't you cold?" She asked Isabelle, who didn't seem to be effected by the glacial-like weather.

Isabelle shrugged. "I've faced worse than this. We spent a month out in the wilderness, waiting for invaders. Usually, I have a cock to keep me warm. There was this one man with a great mouth who kept me entertained for hours."

Clary would have blushed if she wasn't so cold. "Thank you Isabelle, for that mental image."

Isabelle smiled, opening her mouth to say something but then-

CRASH!

Clary jumped, arm latching onto Isabelle. It was then that she noticed the dark clouds that hung heavy above them. Isabelle looked concerned, eyes wide as she took in the lighting that flashed across the sky.

"A storm," she murmured. "It's the middle of summer. This is strange."

Then, light rain began to sprinkle down. Clary and Isabelle rushed to collect the basket, making a run for the castle. The rain became heavier, pouring down like buckets. It was hard to see anything, Clary's vision impaired by the gallons of water.

But, she felt amazing. Running through the rain, each step felt like she was flying.

However, they managed to reach the castle with Clary only falling over twice, slipping in mud. They burst through the doors like a pair of mules, getting surprised looks from the guards. They skidded down the halls, stopping only when they reached Isabelle's room.

Clary dried off her hair, slipping into night clothes she had borrowed from Isabelle. Now that she was dressed, she felt less cold but still felt chills running under her skin.

"Clary?" Isabelle asked from behind. "Have you seen my brush?"

Clary turned, handing it to her. "Oh my god, Clary, your lips are blue!" Isabelle examined, eyes going wide.

"They are?" Clary said self-consciously, touching her lips.

Isabelle looked concerned. She shoved another pile of clothes at her. "Go back to your room and turn on the fireplace. You'll be fine."

Clary nodded numbly. It was only then that she noticed she was shivering, her entire body trembling with the cold. She walked back to her room, her hands rubbing up and down her arms to try draw any sort of warmth she could. Stumbling through the door, she staggered to the fireplace, teeth chattering violently as she did so. She had never felt as cold in her life as she did now.

Exhaustion simmered in her bones, wearing her down. She was on her knees, crawling to the fireplace with drooping eyes and a weak heart.

She collapsed at the foot of the hearth, breathing heavily. Blurry images slid in and out of her sight.

She took a deep breath.

 _Follow simple instructions_ , she told herself.

 _First, get up._ She lifted herself up onto her feet, wobbling slightly as she did so.

The fireplace was empty. _Go get firewood,_ she said to herself firmly. There was a supply closet in the room stocked full of firewood.

Dumping the firewood in the hearth was easy; finding anything to strike fire with. Her eyes searched the room, scouring desperately for any sign of flint, of a fire striker. Back home, in her room at Alicante, the fire was always lit, the hearth kept warm with flames. But here, it was not. The leaders, the nobility, seemed to have a strong sense of independence that she had never seen any posses before.

But her head felt muggy, like it was full of water. Her body was racked with trembles and shivers, chills stabbing every inch of skin she possessed.

 _Look for something to start the fire-_

But the instruction was banished from her mind as she lost her footing and fell, succumbing to the darkness.

She barely registered the dull ache from when she hit her head against the ground. Closing her eyes, she sighed in relief as the drums in her head were silenced.

It was just her and sweet, sweet sleep now.

* * *

Clary barely woke when the door opened. Her eyes opened slightly, only to reveal a strip of empty darkness. Her head was swimming with nausea, making her cough violently. Her name was spoken, said out loud, somewhere out in the far distance.

 _Clary?_

It was louder now.

 _Clary? Clary!_

Much too loud. She groaned, clamping her hands around her ears to try block out the noise.

"Clary!" It was a masculine voice, deep and powerful. "What wrong?" Warm hands were on her body, touching her arms, helping prop her up.

She opened her eyes in a weak attempt.

It was Jace, swimming in and out of her vision.

Her thoughts were murky and distant, but they thought back to the day before.

Her scars.

His disgust at them.

Or was it surprise? She honestly couldn't remember now; she had avoided him for ages now, trying to push the memory away.

She went to bed early, pretending to be asleep as he came in.

It was simply easier to not talk at all.

The dizziness mellowed, and he focused into her vision. He smelt like smoke and pine, maybe mint as well. His blonde hair was damp, curling at the edges. As usual, he was bare-chested, hard muscles dripping with drops of water.

Clary's eyes were drooping shut again.

"Clary!" Jace's hands were at her shoulders, gripping tightly. "Are you alright?" He moved her so that she was his lap, her stomach pressed up against his abdomen.

Clary made a small noise of protest, slight indignation at their position.

"Clary?" His hands found her face, grasping the sides with smooth, hot fingers. Her breathing seemed to shallow, her temperature rising as he made contact with her skin.

Clary coughed again, sweat building at her temples. "I'm fine. Really," she said weakly.

A hand came to rest on her forehead. "Your hot. Forehead really warm," Jace murmured, concern in her voice. Clary felt herself get lifted up, enveloped in a strong pair of arms. Then, she was rested down gently onto the bed. Somehow, she managed to lift up her head. Jace was bent over the fireplace, holding something in his hands. There was a few harsh clinks, then the sound of a fire coming to life.

Jace walked back, picking her up again like she was nothing but air. She felt like a small child, too small for the rest of the world.

He set her down in front of the fire; she was instantly glad for the heat. It soaked through her in a pleasurable way, warming her until she felt like liquid, simply melting into a massive puddle.

The fire was alive, flickering and dancing as the embers glowed bright-red. Beautiful woman danced in the flames, their bodies writhing and moving in an uneven rhythm.

Then, Jace was there again.

Tucking a massive quilt around her shoulders, ensnaring her in a blanket of extra warmth.

Her heart skidded a beat as he slipped under the sheet with her, pulling her into his lap again.

"Jace..." she muttered against his chest, moving her head to the side. Her ear was pressed to his heart, listening to the steady thump of his heart. "W-what are you doing?"

"Human body keep warm," he said into her ear, sending chills down her spine. "Skin to skin, touch make you warm."

Already, this was uncomfortable for her. She shook her head slightly. "I'm okay, really, Jace. I mean, thank you, but-"

"Sh," he commanded in a low voice. "Sleep."

She gave up entirely. There was no possible way she could push him away. Her body was drained of any sort of strength.

"I can't." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I don't feel well. I don't want to sleep." She felt delirious, feverish as she complained like a child.

Jace chuckled, shifting the quilt around them so that it was wrapped more tightly around herself.

"I tell you story, then. Okay?"

Clary nodded into his shoulder. Her legs were on either side of his hips, dangling down, her toes skimming the ground. His muscled arms were wrapped around her waist, heating every nerve in her body. He was so big that her body was swallowed into his own. Their chests and stomachs were flush, pressed against each other.

She had also never been this warm before.

"There was young boy, with kind mother and strong father," Jace's voice was low and relaxed in her ear. "He was to be Koning soon, but not know much to world. Not know much at all."

Clary listened, in quiet intrigue, as his solid heartbeat threaded through her head.

"Father was fair, but strict," Jace continued, still sounding calm enough, but with a tense undertone. "He not think son not know too. So, to make strong, he send son out to woods and told him to stay there until next moon. He said, 'Don't come back until you have learnt.' Mother begged him no, please, not my son. But Father say no, and sent him out."

"How old was the son?" Clary asked quietly, forgetting her pounding headache. The boy, she knew, was Jace.

"Young. Ten, maybe eleven," he said carefully.

"That's cruel," Clary said softly, meeting his ombre eyes. "He was only a boy."

Jace shook his head. "He enter as a boy, but came out as a man." His arms tightened around her body. "He also got first initiation scars."

Possibly because of her deliriousness, she found the courage to put her hands up to rest against his chest, lifting her head. There were dozens of tiny little white scars, cut across his bronzed chest. She traced one with her finger, feeling Jace tense under her touch.

"Are these initiation scars?" She asked, her voice trembling.

Jace nodded.

Clary didn't comment, but resumed her previous position, soaking in his warmth. "Tell me the rest of the story."

Jace rested his chin of top of her head. Clary told herself that he was only doing this to get comfortable. She really couldn't' think of any better reason. "He went in, scared. But held head high, to show his courage. For his mother, for people. He had to be brave. But, nearly died first night there because of bear attack. He ran away, to hide up in tree. He woke hungry, but found bad berries. He thirsty, but find no water.

"Time passed, and he grow. He learnt, the time of day where wilder beast ran, which berry bad, how find water. He learn to hunt, to make fire. He learn, become fast, strong and worthy to be next Koning."

Clary felt herself getting tired, eyes wearied. She allowed herself to wriggle around to find a more comfortable position, looping her arms around Jace's body. It seemed like any caution she had tonight were non-existent, simply being thrown out of the door. She just wanted to be warmer.

He groaned as she did so, making her freeze. She looked up at him under hooded eyes, feeling everything start to slip away from her.

"What's wrong?" She murmured softly, blinking to get rid of the sleep.

He shook his head, but his smirk was pained.

Clary shifted to the side, when she felt _something_ rubbing against her thigh.

If she wasn't so exhausted, she would have jumped up and blushed. However, she just scooted backward, swallowing. Jace chuckled, no trace of embarrassment in his voice. "Sorry," he said into her hair. "No control." He pulled her forward once again.

Clary coughed, nodding weakly. "It's fine," she stammered, her head lolling to the side.

She was too tired to crawl away.

Too do anything at all.

So she rested her head in her previous position, trying to convince herself to sleep. Jace was warm, so warm that it felt like he was fire itself. She often didn't feel safe with him, but all she felt was reassurance and relief. "Clary?" He asked roughly, hands rested on her waist.

"Hmm?" She yawned.

"Where your scars from?"

There was silence. Clary felt her vision blur with panic, and her head throb more painfully than before. At that moment, sh wished she could simply shrink down into nothing, and disappear completely.

"I don't know," she tried, not wanting to talk about him. Jace's long fingers were on her back, tracing the curve of her spine. "I'm really tired."

She felt him nod. "Okay. Not talk about it."

"Thank you," she said, so quietly that she imagined he hadn't heard it.

However, he just held her tighter.

"Scars make you strong," he said in a low voice, cheek pressed against her head. "Make you survivor, make you warrior."

Clary shook her head. "Not for me." She had always been ashamed of her scars, living proof of just how pathetic and was she really was. Just how much her brother had control over her. How he had broken her completely, in the mere matter of a few months. Like how you would break in a horse, or tame a wild animal. She could never be strong because of them.

Jace said nothing, but then started to sing. In low, sweet Idrisian, a song that made Clary's bones melt down into liquid.

Clary wasn't sure exactly what he was saying, but caught words like 'meadow' and 'bitter'. Clary shut her eyes, and thought of the old nights when her father would sing her a lullaby.

And when he was gone, how Bryta would belt out a limerick in a loud, harsh voice that made Clary laugh out loud.

It reminded her of lush springs, meadows filled with blooming flowers. It made her think of coarse mountainsides, rich green grass among other things.

And soon enough, with his sweet words, she eventually lulled off into a deep sleep.

It was just them, a boy with a girl in his lap by the fire, singing her a song of old.

* * *

 ***Sniffling.**

 **So, what did you think? Love, hate?**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrap**


	12. Chapter 12 (Hollow Lies of the Forest)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 12. How Foolish Am I, A Young Fool**

 **Hi guys! Thank you so much for your reviews! I love them all, and they make my day.**

 **I hope you like this chapter.**

 **Please read and review!**

* * *

 **Chapter 12.**

 **-Clary-**

The next few days were a blur.

Clary didn't remember much, as she was asleep for most of it.

Her eyes closed, being unable to open, to see anything.

She felt like she was drowning, a dull headache only slightly conscious in her thoughts. She felt cold, cold right down to her heart. When she was awake, she could barely keep her eyes open. Her head throbbed, her throat was parched dry and she was constantly shivering. Every part of her body ached, her muscles spiked with pain.

Occasionally, in the few minutes when she was awake, she saw Jace, standing over her with concern on his face. Sometimes, Isabelle. Most surprising of all, she thought she saw Alec once or twice.

She felt terrible. Awful, even.

She felt as if she was trapped under the ground, unable to find her way out. Eventually, she would be surfaced up to the ground and see a few moments of fresh air, but was soon pulled under.

However, the moments when she was dreaming was worst. All of her dreams were filled with massive, red-eyed monsters who turned into her brother, howling dogs with bloody glass for teeth and screaming women in white night-gowns who were bleeding from their eyes.

She couldn't move. Or speak. No matter how many times she told herself it was simply just delirium, the effects of the fever, it just seemed so real.

Just make it end, please.

The dreams rolled on in an endless turret of pain and torture.

...

Clary, through her haze of raging fever, felt a cool cloth press against her burning forehead. It bought her little relief, but she was thankful for it nonetheless. She struggled to get her eyes open, willing herself to pull out of her sleep. When she did manage to open her eyes, she saw Jace, looking down at her with darkened eyes.

She swallowed, trying to say something, anything she could. But her words got caught in her throat, which felt as dry as the desert.

Coughing weakly, she just slumped back into her cushion.

Jace begun to fade out of her vision as her eyes struggled to stay open. He seemed to sense her distress and moved forward, a warm hand resting on her cheek. "Go to sleep," he murmured. "You need it."

Clary's eyes rolled to the back of her head.

...

More dreams.

Whispering trees with evil intentions.

Mermaids with bared teeth who sang sweet songs to lure sailors to their death.

Why could no one hear her screams?

...

She tossed and turned, her body racked with shivers.

Wake, wake, wake.

...

Never waking.

...

A pair of colorful cat-eyes looked down at her. She blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the flickering candle Cat-Eyes held in his hand. He seemed to sparkle, his eyelashes throwing off tiny shards of light every time he blinked. Clary could roughly make out a head of black hair that was spiked upward.

They stared at one another for what seemed like hours.

He tilted his head to the side, observing her with cool green eyes. "Don't worry, princess. I'll take care of you," he purred sleekly, with a slight accent to his voice that lilted the ends of his words.

Clary thought she saw a flicker of light pass through his fingers, illuminating his fingertips.

The current pulled Clary back under.

...

Then, she felt nothing.

Nothing at all.

It was just darkness. Dark, dark, night.

* * *

It was morning when she woke.

And when she roused, she had never felt better. Blinking, she sat up, careful not to rush anything. There was a fine layer of cold sweat coated on her back, starting a fine film of perspiration across her neck. She shook her head, ridding her mind of the remaining shreds of light-headedness. She was dressed in a light-blue nightgown, which fluttered around her figure.

It was early morning out, which made Clary wonder how long she had been out for. The sky was rosy-red, with the sun barely peeking out from behind a faraway mountain.

She felt good. Far too good, in fact.

She pressed a hand against her forehead. No fever. Her throat felt thirsty, but it didn't feel like it was on fire. The now-familiar throbbing of her headache was long gone. She frowned, attempting to make her way out of bed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," an amused voice said from a corner. Clary's heart skipped a few beats as her head whirled around to find the culprit's voice.

It was the man from one of her dreams. Or was it a dream? She stared at him, breath hitched in her throat. He was sitting in a chair, legs crossed over each other. His cat-eyes were slanted, with high eyebrows arched over his eyes. He was dressed extravagantly, like a traveling merchant. He wore a black, glittery robe draped over a pirate shirt. Bright yellow pants were cut off by buckled boots.

"Who are you?" She asked, her voice hoarse. She coughed into her hand, feeling dizzy as she did so.

The man didn't answer, but slowly walked over to her. He grabbed a pitcher of water, pouring her a glass. She watched him warily; he handed her the glass, which she accepted with reluctance. "You better drink, princess. You'll need your strength," he murmured as Clary eagerly gulped down the water.

She finished, setting down her glass. "Who are you?" She asked again, more forcefully.

He raised an eyebrow. "You have your mother's charming temper, I see."

Clary's thoughts halted. "You-you knew my mother?"

The man nodded. "Yes. Jocelyn. Or as I knew her, Jocelyn Fairchild. Forgive my manners, Clarissa. I am Magnus Bane," he said smoothly, picking off a lump of lint from his frock.

Clary's fingers gripped the bed sheets. "How do you know my mother?" She had always had mixed feelings about her dead mother, dead for the reason being Clary's birth. Of course, she had always felt a strange connection to Jocelyn, a sort of spiritual love for her mother. Then, there was the consuming feeling of guilt.

The man smiled, titling his head to the side. "You look exactly like her," he said softly. He was very elegant with his movements, and moved like a dancer. "Do you mind if I sit?" He asked, gesturing at a chair that sat near the bed.

Clary nodded slowly. "Of course not," she said, drawing the covers around herself.

Magnus lowered himself down into the seat, smiling serenely as he did so. "When I heard that the queen of Idris was in fact the princess of Alicante, I had to come see her. Especially when she was the daughter of my dear friend. I helped heal you. You were awfully ill, you know," he explained, cat-eyes glinting.

Clary swallowed. "How long have you known her for?"

"Since she was a teenager. I was the man who married your parents."

"You knew my father as well?" Clary asked, trying to imagine her parents conversing with this tall, odd-looking man.

Magnus nodded. "Quite well, my dear. He came to me on advice for wining your mother over. He was most successful, I have to say," he said, grinning pleasantly. "Yes, I was close to the queen. I was the closet person she had to an adviser. However, I have not seen for father since you were just days old."

Clary considered this. "Do you know my brother, Jonathon?" She asked. Although she had never once met the man, perhaps Jonathon had.

Magnus didn't look pleased. "Yes, on more than one occasion. Your brother has a very bad vibe about him, one I sensed even as he was a young child. Of course, Jocelyn could never see it. She was convinced he was an angel, sent down as a blessing from the Lord himself."

"He blames me for her death," Clary spoke quietly.

"I, however, do not," Magnus said crisply. "Fate will decide the start and the end of all of our lives, dear Clarissa. It is in but God's hands."

Clary was silent for a while. She took another sip of water, glad for the cool rush of liquid.

"How long was I out?" Clary questioned.

Magnus considered this. "Three days," he replied calmly.

"Three days?" Clary repeated, shocked. It had felt simply like one night. "Has it really been that long?"

Magnus nodded. "Yes, it has been. Your husband has been awfully worried about you. Pacing, all day long outside your room, waiting. He nearly scared a scullery maid half to death when she came by for beverages. He's been in a downright terrible mood," Magnus said stiffly.

Clary swung her legs over to the side so that they hung off the ledge. "I have to see everyone," she said urgently. "They're probably all worried sick."

"Of course," Magnus said slowly. "But your body is still recovering. You must be cautious."

Clary nodded, lifting herself out of bed. The first few steps made her feel woozy, terrible even as her vision blurred and her mind swayed from side to side. She shuddered, stumbling a bit but managed to regain her posture. She leaned against the door, breathing heavily. Then, she lifted her hand to push the door open.

Jace, Isabelle and Alec were waiting outside, slumped up against the wall. They looked up, in shock as she shyly walked through.

She was immediately met with surprised voices as she was embraced into a pair of skinny arms. "Clary! Thank God your okay!" Isabelle said breathlessly.

Clary gingerly patted her on the shoulder. "I'm fine, Isabelle. Really," she promised. Alec strayed behind, a scowl in his icy-blue eyes.

Isabelle let her go. She smiled once more at Clary.

Jace moved forward, an unreadable expression in his eyes. To Clary's surprise, he took her by the hand, grasping her fingers with his own. "Are you alright?" He asked her in a low voice.

She simply nodded, unable to speak.

"She'll be as right as rain in a day or two," Magnus said softly, appearing suddenly behind her. "Just stay in bed, get plenty of rest and drink lots of water. Also, be sure to take these at least twice a day; one in the morning, one in the afternoon. They'll help with the nausea and the headaches." He handed her a small bag; Clary peered inside. There were a dozen small, pebble-sized pills inside.

"Thank you, Magnus," Clary said, smiling gingerly at him. "For everything."

He titled his head forward to acknowledge her. "The very best to you, my princess."

Jace stepped forward; Clary, forgetting that their fingers were intertwined, blushed and pulled her hand away. "Magnus, Idris owes you great debt. We all thank you for services," he said.

"Just look after Clarissa for me," Magnus clasped his hands.

Jace nodded. "Alec will escort you out."

Magnus seemed pleased at the prospect, gleaming at Alec, who flushed bright-red. "Come along now, Alexander. You must show me around the castle first," Magnus said wickedly. He swept past Alec, who followed Magnus with a stutter in his voice.

"Come on," Jace said, taking her gently by the arm. "To bed. Get rest."

Clary could hardly protest as she was urged towards the bed, her words long lost.

* * *

"Gee-luk," Clary struggled to make out the word, the strange Idrisian pronunciation foreign to her tongue.

"Try again," Jace told her, leaning forward to meet her eyes. His eyes were a content, golden color. Almost like they were happy. "Try with different way."

They were in Jace's room, with Clary sitting up in her bed, Jace kneeling beside her. He had been...perfect, just like a caring husband. He brought her food from the kitchens, even made a makeshift bed near the fire in case she got cold and made sure she had her pills twice a day. He stood attentively by her bedside, pressing a cold cloth against her head, grabbing her extra sheets.

Clary was thinking of how when she was a child, how Bryta would feed her chicken soup and wrap her up tight in blankets.

She missed her so much already.

Since he wouldn't let her get out bed, she had asked him to teach her some more Idrisian. She know knew a few basic colors and some greetings. Now, there were learning about emotions.

"Jeluk," she tried again. "Geluk. Happiness."

Jace nodded approvingly. "Very good. Now, sadness. _Hartseer_."

"Harseer," Clary said, mimicking him almost perfectly.

"Yes. Well done," Jace said to her. "You very fast learner."

Clary beamed with pleasure.

"Now, I teach you war and culture phrases in Idrisian," Jace told her, shifting to the side. Clary nodded again. "Bloed sal bloed hê."

"What does it mean?" Clary asked, shifting closer to him.

"Blood will have blood," Jace replied. "It mean that when one take life of another, life-taker must die."

Clary was reminded of when Jace told her about his father slitting the king's throat in revenge for his wife's death.

However, she knew better than to not bring it up.

"Bloed sal bloed hê," Clary repeated, the wordscoming more easily to her now. "Blood will have blood."

Jace rested his forearms on his knees. "Broer na broer, ons staan saam," he said.

Clary tried the phrase. "Broer na broer, ons staan saam."

"Brother to brother, we stand together." Jace grinned lazily at her. "It is meant for battlefield, when we are 'bout to fight. We use it to move warriors, help to motivate them all. It bond us all together, in union and courage," he explained. "We all brother, no matter real blood family or not."

Clary twisted with her fingers. "That's very moving. Do you fight with the other warriors often?" Clary asked.

Jace nodded. "I train with younger warriors a lot. I also go to battle sometimes as well, if I not needed here."

"But when you leave, who runs the kingdom?" Clary asked.

"Usually, I leave Malachi in charge. He Elder, and very respected."

"Who's Malachi?"

"Man who performed our wedding ceremony," Jace said, his eyes looking more closely into her's. "He knows very much, and wise as well. But, when you learn more, you run kingdom while I gone away."

"Me?" Clary was shocked.

Jace smirked. "Yes, you. You Koningin, make you ruler of Idris too. In time, when you learn more, you will help rule." He glanced at her again. "Remember, equals."

Clary slowly nodded.

"Do you think you could teach me some more Idrisian?" Clary asked, eager to learn more of this new language.

"Yes. Let me get book for you," Jace said, rising up from his spot. He walked over towards a bookshelf, one Clary had been too afraid to touch. It was filled with old, dusty books and other scripts. He tugged out an especially dog-eared book and walked back to Clary. He handed it to her; she eagerly accepted, taking the book into her hands.

"What is this?" She asked, carefully turning the page over. There were paintings, of beautiful women dancing in the skies and majestic creatures who breathed fire. They were framed by fine gold paint and decorated symbols.

"It a book of old Idrisian myths, fairy tale and language. It explain legend of us,of our people. There translation in back a book, in English too."

She turned to another page, where there were lines of a foreign script she had never seen before. She traced them with her finger, admiring the black ink of the beautiful characters. "I love it, Jace, thank you so much."

He grunted in acknowledgement. "Use well."

Clary nodded, eager to read more. "Do you think that you can read me the first few pages?" She asked hopefully.

Jace considered this. "Okay."

He knelt beside her, their bodies almost touching.

"This story 'bout Earth God, who power man.."

* * *

Clary was sleeping when their was a tentative knock on the door. She woke, blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Jace's head was rested next to her arm, the soft rise and fall of his chest indicating that he was asleep. He looked much younger when he was asleep, the hard look on his face softened as he slept. His blonde hair was spilt messily over his head; Clary had the urge the brush it away from his face.

She got out of bed, carefully placing the book to the side. She wobbled over to the door, wincing as her stiff muscles moaned in protest.

She slowly pushed the door open, wondering who was behind there. She blinked in surprise.

It was Simon.

He was holding a bouquet of blue flowers in his hand, looking nervous as he did so. "Hi, Clary," he stuttered.

"Simon," she smiled pleasantly at him. "It's nice to see you."

"Y-you too, Clary," he said nervously. "I heard you were sick and just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"That's very nice of you," Clary smiled. "Are those flowers for me?"

Simon nodded, almost shyly.

She took them, admiring them. "They're beautiful, Simon. I love them."

"That's great," Simon responded, playing with his fingers. "And your feeling better?"

"Yes, a lot better. Thank you again, Simon. What have you been up to recently?" She asked him, clasping her hands in front of the other.

Simon shrugged. "Nothing much. One of the horses came down with something, but she's recovering-"

"Clary?" It was Jace, and he sounded irritated. He walked up to the door, tall and male as he hunkered forward. "Who is there?"

Simon paled.

Jace's chest lifted, showing off the impressive muscle. He had at least three inches on Simon, and possibly twenty pounds on him. "Simon, what you doing here?" He grunted like a primitive monkey.

Simon visibly shrank away. "I-I'm sorry, my lord. I was j-just wishing the Koningin good health-"

"She resting," he almost snarled. "Leave, Simon."

Simon scuttled away like a wounded animal.

Clary stared at Jace. Confusion and anger squirmed uncomfortably in her veins. He looked grumpy, downright pissed even but Clary was even more so. "Jace, Simon was my friend. He was only here to try and make me feel better, and you were completely rude to him. Why did you do that?" She argued with him, crossing his hands across his chest.

Jace scowled at her. "Don't trust Rat-Boy. He foreigner," he said to her through gritted teeth.

"So am I," Clary shot right back, frowning at him.

For once, she wasn't scared.

She just let her rage speak for her.

Jace stared at her for a long time. Then, he stalked over to the bed and harshly grabbed the cloth bag of pills. He shoved it in her hands. "Take your pill. I going for a walk."

He stormed out of the door, leaving Clary to fume in anger. She let out an exasperated sigh, slumping back down into the bed.

What a long, long day it had been.

* * *

 **Did you like?**

 **Please review!**

 **Love you all!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	13. Chapter 13 (Let Blood Be Spilt)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 13. Let Blood Be Spilt**

 **Hello everybody! I worked so hard on his chapter, I hope you enjoy it. Thank you for all your supportive reviews, they made me so happy. I don't really have a posting schedule, I just write whenever I'm free, but I try to update at least one every few weeks. I'm really glad so many people like it, I wasn't sure at first.**

 **This chapter looks more onto Clary and Jace's relationship development, and Clary's personal development as well.**

 **It also takes a look at Idrisian culture and how it works.**

 **Please read and review!**

* * *

There was a sweet lullaby of whistles and chirps as the birds sang, old words of new. Clary closed her eyes briefly, before wincing as Isabelle pulled harshly on her hair. "Could you be more gentle, Isabelle?" Clary said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to snap at her.

Isabelle shrugged, like there was nothing she could do about it. "It's just hair. Deal with it," she said in a no-nonsense voice that Clary would usually associate Bryta with.

"Yes, hair that is attached to my scalp!" Clary snapped grumpily, sounding rather like a small child.

Isabelle said nothing, but continued to braid Clary's hair into a tight braid. They were in Isabelle's room, getting her ready for the _Waiheeda._

The _Waiheenda_ was the initiation process for Idrisian soldiers. Tonight, at the stroke of first moonlight, there was to be the ceremony for the warriors who had come of age. Isabelle had told her all about it; the rituals, the process, how the Koning and Koningin had to be present for this sacred ceremony. It was a cool day, the last few signs of the storm being chased away.

Jace was still annoyed at her, for whatever reason she couldn't think of. What was so terrible about Simon?

"Alright," Isabelle said, tying off her hair with a strip of ribbon. "I'm finished."

Clary looked up at her reflection, which she almost didn't recognize. Black war paint covered the skin of her eyes, streaking down her face and up to cover her eyelids and eyebrows. It looked like it was dripping down her skin, touching the tips of her temples. She looked fierce and dangerous, with dark eyes and an almost animalistic look to her. Her attire was black silk, robes that flowed down until it brushed her ankles. Ceremonial, gold bracelets clinked against each other and a pretty, grass-woven tiara.

For once, she could actually believe she was a Koningin.

Isabelle squeezed her shoulder. "You looks scary. Terrifying, actually," Isabelle smirked. Clary supposed she sort of did; she smiled at Isabelle, admiring her braid.

"Thanks, Isabelle. I think I'm ready," Clary said, as confidently as she could manage. She thought she was; she could handle speeches and festivals, so why couldn't she manage one night of this?

However, Isabelle looked troubled. "Clary, this ceremony is very intense. There will be blood spilt, and a lot of it."

Clary's confidence faltered, withering until it was nothing but a pile of ashes. "What do you mean?" She asked, suddenly aware of her bare skin. "Blood?"

"My initiation was the scariest thing I've ever done," Isabelle said, brow furrowed. "It was absolutely terrifying. Only royalty, former warriors, Malachi and the _belforai_ (warriors taking the initiation) are allowed to attend. Usually, women aren't allowed to attend but the former Koning allowed me to partake. He said I was as good as any man." With this, Isabelle's chest puffed out in pride.

"What happens?" Clary asked, nerves suddenly running rampant. "Isabelle, what happens at the ceremony?"

There was a small knock at the door; Clary stood, brushing off the dried up paint from her dress. "Come in!" She called, clearing the hitch from her voice.

The door opened, hesitantly, before a young girl stepped in. She was bright red, her head bowed down. She couldn't have been older than thirteen. "M-my Koningin, the Koning needs you in the court room," the girl stuttered, keeping her eyes away from Clary.

"The court room?" Clary said, frowning. "Why would he want me there?"

Isabelle shrugged, adjusting Clary's dress. "I'm not sure, but you should get going. The Koning does not like to be kept waiting," Isabelle said sternly, before pulling Clary into a tight hug, squeezing her tightly. "Good luck," she whispered, before letting go.

Clary nodded, trying to ignore the frantic humming of her heart.

She followed the girl until she reached the doors. Clary smiled down at the little girl, who twisted her fingers. "Thank you," she said softly.

The girl blinked, blushed, then ran away.

Clary turned to the door, taking a deep breath. She could do this. Or, at least she hoped so.

The doors opened, letting the cold air rush into the warm atmosphere. Clary stepped through, head held high.

And then froze where she stood.

Jace, and at least ten other men, sat on wooden chairs in quiet conversation. They were dressed similarly to one another, in black, leather clothes with war paint coated over their eyes, splashed across their faces. They all looked fierce, scary as they conversing in gruff Idrisian.

However, it was all the near-naked women that stood behind them that caught Clary's attention. They were looking beautiful and sultry as they walked confidently around, strutting off their barely-there strips of clothing.

Jace noticed her; her pulse increased almost by five beats as he looked her square in the eyes. He looked dark, dangerous even with war-painted eyes and wild animal fur worn on his lean and muscled body.

Clary swallowed as he gestured her to come forward. She did so, slow, tentative steps.

She stopped, just a stone's throw away.

His eyes bore into her's, stony, unreadable, a rich topaz. Clary felt all eyes on her; men and women alike.

"My Koning," Clary said stiffly, barely able to contain her annoyance.

He nodded his head, acknowledging her. "We start ceremony soon. Malachi will have to prepare you for spiritual part," Jace gruffly told her, leaning forward.

Just as he said this, a smirking Kaelie strutted over, large breasts barely contained in a strip of fabric. She looked confident as she strolled over, hanging behind him. She touched him on the shoulder, swinging herself into his view, practically shoving her breasts into his face. Jace didn't encourage her either, but didn't push her away

Clary saw red in her vision, clawing at the sides of her eyes.

What kind of woman had the decency to do something like that to a man, especially when his wife was in the room?

That caught her off guard. Did she care? Why would she?

Malachi, dressed in ceremonial robes, rose from the corner. He seemed disinterested in the women who crowded the room, while the other men laughed and stared greedily at flaunting, vivacious women. A withered hand appeared from the sleeve of his robe, grasping weakly at Clary's hand.

"Come, child," he rasped, pulling her towards a different room. "We must prepare you."

Malachi was holding his familiar staff, which clinked every time he banged it against the floor. His dark eyes were heavy, layered with years of age and experience.

Clary allowed herself to be led away, only to glance back just once. Jace looked after her with unreadable eyes and a stoic expression. He didn't even seem to notice Kaelie, or the other women crowded around him, desperate to please their Koning.

Malachi led her to a faraway room, where he hobbled and wheezed his way there. It was a room that smelt like herbs and spices, a sort of smoky pinewood smell. There were a few strange objects, an altar and steps leading up to a golden temple.

Malachi coughed, doubling over. Clary helped him into a chair, patting him on the back. He breathed heavily, leaning back. "Thank you, my Koningin," he said, offering her a toothless smile. "I am afraid that the years have caught up to me."

Clary offered him a tentative smile. "That's quite alright, Malachi," she said gently.

He rested for a second, then slowly got back up. "Come along, my dear. We must prepare you." He led her over to the altar, where he instructed her to kneel in front of the temple. He held up incense and burned the tips, waving them around her face. Clary breathed in the smell of ash and wood, alongside the aroma of sweet vanilla.

He murmured in Idrisian, words that sounded like a chant. He banged his staff against the ground, ringing the shells together. "Close your eyes, child," Malachi murmured; Clary complied, lulled by the warm room and the sweet smell of embers.

Malachi begun to chant again, his stick banging against the ground in a frantic rhythm. His hand grabbed her arm; Clary wanted to pull away, but just gritted her teeth and kept it there.

"This will hurt, young Koningin, but your endurance will see through," Malachi said, somewhere to her left. "Let your pain guide you through."

Clary was about to ask what, but then a sharp pain erupted in her left upper arm. She gasped, her arm clenching. She was about to pull her arm away, but Malachi gripped her arm with surprising strength. "No, Koningin. Stay," he commanded in a stern voice. The same pain stabbed her in the arm but Clary just bit her cheek until she felt blood gather in her mouth.

It must have been minutes when he finally stopped.

"Can I open my eyes?" Clary asked, so softly she wasn't sure if she actually spoke.

"Yes, Koningin," Malachi's grave voice was in her ear.

Clary tentatively opened her eyes and looked down at her arm. To her surprise, she saw a series of patterns looped around her arm. Her skin was raw, red from the pain but she stared at the tattoo in awe. The patterns were symbols and writhing figures that were spelt out across her skin. "What it is?" Clary asked in a hushed voice, tracing her arm with a hesitant finger.

"It is the Hearth. The symbol that allows people to partake in important rituals," Malachi said calmly, putting his tools to the side. "It is tradition in our culture, a knowledge passed down from father to son. I performed it on the Koning, and his father before him."

Clary had seen the tattoo on Jace before, but had never really commented on it before.

"Now come on, Koningin. We must leave for the ceremony," Malachi said, suddenly looking serious.

Clary suddenly felt an onset of nerves. "All right," she said, rising from her position. "I'm ready."

* * *

The wind blew around her, vicious and animalistic as her hair whipped around her in a frantic frenzy. The fires in the posts were threatened by the weather; Clary shivered as the wind bit through her skin. The sky was dark and stormy with the promise of thunder.

Clary and Jace were seated outside, faraway from the castle. There were two thrones set up, where each of them sat. In a circle a few steps from them, a group of emotionless young warriors that were waiting to be initiated.

Clary couldn't read their expressions. It was like any feeling was wiped away from them.

The air was thick with tension and anticipation. There were people in the corner, banging away at tribal drums, yelling and shouting in Idrisian. Clary resisted the urge to clamp her eyes shut to try and block out the last few hours.

For the first part of the ceremony, the initiates had lined up; Malachi had then gone forward to give them their initiation scars.

Cut upon cut, a small knife piercing through skin. Clary couldn't help but feel sick to her stomach.

After cutting dozens of tiny scars on the young men's chest, Malachi had then gone ahead to fill them with a sort of ashy sand that helped preserve them.

The young men, who couldn't have been more than a few years older than her, showed no change in their faces during the entire ceremony. There must have been around twenty of them; too many cuts, everywhere.

It was baffling for Clary.

The pain in her arm had been numbed by the cold; she barely even acknowledged it now.

The iniation scars were then followed by a series of tests; that to prove endurance, pain, loyalty.

The last part of the ceremony included Clary and Jace. Jace would hand them an amulet that signified adulthood and their status as a warrior. Clary would then paint a symbol on their foreheads in black ink, and say 'Welkom, broer, want jy is nou 'n vegter, een van ons. Mag u eendag u koning en koningin ter ere en waardigheid dien. Lang lewe Idris!'

 _(Welcome, brother, for you are now a warrior, one of us. May you one day serve your king and queen in honor and dignity. Long live Idris!)_

With that, the ceremony ended with an abrupt close.

Now, the soldiers were enjoying the festivities, flirting with the women, drinking wine. Jace remained in his chair, stiff and silent as a board, eyes unreadable as the darkest of nights.

However, Clary had to simply process everything that had just happened.

This was nothing that she knew.

The returned pain of her arm burned even brighter than a flame.

Then, Clary noticed something in the corner of her eye. A new initiate, Ryouuk, had bent over a whore and was thrusting into her. Ryouuk was holding a look of extreme concentration. There he was, simply out in the open, in front of the crowds.

Clary blanched, gripping the arms of her chair.

But, an older man, an experienced warrior, came over and laughed harshly. He pushed the boy over, taking his place as he grabbed the women by the hair, violently pushing himself into her. The women's eyes rolled back into her head, grunting at the impact. However, Ryouuk didn't seem to like that and drew out his sword, a curved blade. It glinted in the firelight, sharp and dangerous.

The man eyed it warily. He pushed the women aside, drawing out his own sword.

Clary's breath hitched in her throat.

The older man threw the first strike, slashing his blade down. He didn't seem to appreciate Ryouuk's courage and it seemed to only fuel his anger. However, Ryouuk was strong and his reflexes were good, and he managed to barely just throw him off with a few expert slashes of his blade.

"Ek sal jou aan die maagvarkies, seun, voed!" The older man snarled, teeth glinting viciously in the moonlight.

 _(I will feed you to the maggots, boy!)_

Ryouuk grinned at him savagely, baring his blade. This only seemed to infuriate the man, who charged like a bull, bringing down his blade in a slice of mighty fury.

He managed to catch the boy's arm; the blade sliced through the skin, blood gleaming like fire.

Clary looked at Jace frantically, seeing how he planned to stop this. But, Jace was seated, looking as calm and collected as ever. His eyes were dark, though, looking troubled.

Ryouuk seemed untroubled by the wound and fought back with as much vigor as he could. He managed to push the man back and sliced his blade through the scarce surface of his chest. The man looked alarmed; Ryouuk pushed his with all the force he could manage; the man stumbled so that he landed on his back. Ryouuk sliced the man's arms, individually, slowly and painfully. The man groaned in pain.

Ryouuk smiled, showing off bared teeth.

"Koning!" Clary whispered harshly to him, grabbing his attention. "Please, you need to stop this!"

Jace looked at her with hard eyes. "No, cannot. I not allowed to get in way of feud. It is sacred honor that I do not interfere with warrior's war," he explained in a harsh tone. "This is way of life. If Ryouuk defeats Deulos, then he will have great honor. He defeated an older, more experienced warrior."

Ryouuk raised his sword, high up in the sky. It was covered in blood, rich and crimson red.

Clary grabbed his arm. "Please!" Clary pleaded, voice hoarse. "Please, you can stop this!"

Jace looked down at her hand, clenched over his own. Clary's breathing was irregular, harsh and desperate.

Blood dripped from Ryouuk's sword, staining the ground red.

"Jace!" There was a note of finality in her voice.

Ryouuk's sword was swinging down when Jace stood up in his chair. "Genoeg!" He said sternly, looking tall and intimidating. "Jy het jou pret gehad. Sit nou jou swaarde, stryders neer. Om jou nederlaag te wys, sal Deulos, Maleagi jou egter met die skande van jou verlies merk."

 _(You've had your fun. Now put down your swords, warriors. However, to show your defeat, Deulos, Malachi will brand you with the shame of your loss)._

Malachi hobbled forward, familiar staff in his hand. He held a red-hot branding in the other. Deulos held an expression of fear on his face; the crowd murmured restlessly as Malachi wobbled forward.

"What's happening?" Clary asked, confused. "What is Malachi holding?"

"Deulos lost to Ryouuk," Jace said, eyes stormy. "To show shame, he must be branded."

"T-that's inhumane!" Clary said in disbelief.

Jace didn't respond.

Clary shut her eyes, wincing as Deulos screamed in pain. She opened them once again, disgust clawing at her insides. However, it was when Ryouuk came forward with his sword; that was when she felt revoltion churn viciously in her stomach.

He presented it to her, kneeling down on one leg. "Ek gee dit aan jou, my koningin, as 'n geskenk."

 _(I give this to you, my queen, as a gift)._

Clary stared at it blankly.

The blood gleamed brighter than ever. It stained his hands, dripping down his arms.

The crowd waited, expecting.

As did Ryouuk, who held out the sword to her, eyes dark and smoky.

She hesitantly took it, hands trembling as she did so. One of her hands grabbed the hilt, while the other gently held the blade. The blood seeped through her skin, staining the flesh of her fingers.

Clary froze, looking out at the crowd as the blood dripped down her arm, falling down, as silent as the night.

Drip, drip, drip.

* * *

Clary was down by the stream, washing her hands in the river. They were trembling, her fingers shaking. She had been by the river for at least ten minutes, trying to wash the blood from her fingers. She was down on her knees, her legs folded under her. The pain in her arm had disappeared completely, seeming like nothing water was freezing, but she hardly noticed.

When she closed her eyes, she saw Deulos, the red-hot brand on his chest.

She didn't hear the birds, or the trickling stream. She heard his screams, loud and painful in her ears.

Her hands refused to stop trembling.

She scrubbed harder, determined to rub away any remaining traces of blood. A particularly stubborn stain refused to go, and remained there. Clary scrubbed harder, frustration building in the pit of her stomach. Tears of annoyance sprung to her eyes. "Dammit!" She swore, wiping at her eyes. She never swore, but it was just too much.

She didn't want this.

Any of it.

She sniffled, wiping at her eyes.

"There you are," A gruff voice said behind her. Clary whirled around to see Jace, hair mussed and eyes with a fresh layer of black face paint. "Wondered where you went."

Clary turned away from him, wiping furiously at her hands. "Sorry," she whispered. "I was tired. I just had to get some fresh air."

There was the cry of an owl, somewhere from the forest.

Jace sat down next to her, eyes darkened. "Our tradition is rich and our culture old as gods itself. Not all very nice, but it how we do things. Only way we know how," he said to her in a low voice.

"I know," Clary said, her hands stilled in her lap. "I-I'm just not used to any of this. It's completely surreal to me."

Jace's eyes furrowed in confusion. "Su-rel?" He asked.

"Surreal. Crazy, bizarre."

"This is all very new to you, yes?"

Clary nodded distantly. "I don't understand your customs. I've never seen anything like this before," Clary said softly. "It's all very new to me."

Jace picked at the grass. "New to me too."

Clary turned to him, slightly confused. "How?"

"My father was best Koning I knew," Jace said, twisting a piece of grass in between his long fingers. "It hard to follow such a respected man, but I have to try. I owe it to my people. But, it hard to try and make right decisions. I have to make everyone happy, to keep kingdom running, to keep people safe. Pressure, all the time on me."

"I didn't know," Clary said, feeling enlightened. Jonathon was always so confident, acting with the swift confidence of an experienced king. Jace, in that way, was the same. "You never act like your unsure."

Jace shrugged. "I cannot. My people don't want weakness in their Koning, don't want any hesitation. Malachi advised me to take marriage with princess of Alicante." Clary could feel his eyes on her. "To help rule."

"I'm not exactly doing an amazing job," Clary said quietly.

Jace chuckled. "You doing fine. The people not used to foreign Koningin, but they are adapt well. You do well."

Clary smiled down at her hands. "Thank you," she said, so quietly that she wouldn't think that he would hear.

She felt a lot better; she almost forgot the last few hours.

Then, out of nowhere, there was a low keening sound. Clary's head perked up, her breathing loud in her own ears. Her eyes frantically searched for it, but nothing came into her vision. She had zeroed it down, somewhere in the forest.

Jace was already on his feet, hand going for hi sword. "What was that?" Clary asked, scrambling to her feet.

Jace's brow was furrowed, entire body tense. "Not sure. Sounded like animal," he said, posture alert.

"It sounds like it's hurt," Clary said, mind racing. For some reason, she couldn't bear the thought of an injured animal.

She then took off, running towards the sound.

"Clary, wait!" Jace called out, reaching for her; however, she slipped away, running through the pine trees. Her heart was beating frantically; her eyes were searching for the animal. She winced as a branch cut across her cheek, slicing through the skin. She felt blood trickle down her cheek; she touched it gingerly.

It was then that she noticed how quiet it was around her.

And dark.

Very, very dark.

And, then, the same whine from before. It was much closer this time, just a few meters from her.

She walked, slowly, towards the noise. She brushed a few branches out of the way, eyes eventually adjusting to the dark. Stumbling into a small clearing, her breathing hitched in her throat.

There was a body of wolf-like creature lying on the ground. It was covered in blood, dark crimson staining the grass around it. It was badly mauled, a large portion it's body torn out of it.

Clary's hand covered her mouth. Her breathing was shallow, haggard as she slowly approached the creature, tentative, silent steps that trod the ground.

It was beautiful, even in death. The coat was silver-grey, thick and majestic in the soft moonlight. It's eyes, wide and terrified, were an icy-blue. It was fully grown, with strong legs and padded paws.

Clary's bottom lip trembled.

It was then that she heard a familiar whine; the same noise she had just discovered before.

She turned, eyes searching.

There it was.

A tiny, little wolf, whimpering as it hovered near the tree. It was an exact replica of the dead wolf, except it was much smaller. Just a cub, really.

The wolf's cub.

Clary's mind went blank.

The dead wolf was a mother. And her cub was now all alone, defenseless in the world.

She walked slowly towards it, careful not to frighten it. The cub whimpered, cowering as it did so. "Shh," she whispered, "it's okay. I won't hurt you."

She knelt down onto her knees; she was sure to not make any sudden movements. The cub yelped, panic clear in it's eyes. "It's okay," Clary said again, trying to make sure her voice was gentle and non-threatening. "I wont hurt you. I promise."

The wolf cub inched forward, looking uncertain. "Hello," Clary smiled softly. "I'm sorry for your mother. I lost my own as well."

The cub tentatively licked her hand. Clary laughed, touching it's muzzle gently. "You'll be fine," Clary promised. "I swear on my heart."

The cub barked excitedly, it's tail wagging enthusiastically.

Suddenly, Jace burst through the trees, eyes wild. "Clary!" He said, anger clear in his eyes. "Don't run off! It's dangerous in the forest!" His sword was clenched in his hand, his knuckles white.

The cub yelped, moving forward so that it cowered behind Clary.

"I'm sorry, Jace," Clary said, as calmly as she could manage. "But I had to-look over there." She gestured towards the dead wolf.

Jace frowned, lowering his sword. "A Drustic Wolf. They are rare, and don't come over in our land much." He walked over to

"A Drustic Wolf?" Clary asked, looking down at the new cub. "Is that what they're called?"

Jace nodded. "They are good hunting dogs, very clever and smart. My grand father had one when he was young man; he said it best hunting dog he ever had."

"I think she was killed by something. A bear, maybe," Clary said, voice catching in her throat. "Look, she had a cub." It came forward, icy-blue eyes wary of Jace.

Jace considered the cub. It barked at him, baring small, pointy teeth. "It looks young. Maybe few weeks old. It will die out here, if it all alone."

Clary's eyes widened.

"Take it, if you like," Jace said in a cool tone. "A Koningin should have hunting dog to protect her."

Clary breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Jace. Really."

He nodded. "Hurry. What killed the mother may still be around. We need to go back to castle."

Clary grinned in relief. She scooped the cub up into her arms, cradling it gently. It barked, content, licking her cheek. She smiled, tucking it closer into her body.

The day, despite being one of her worst, had had a fortunate ending.

* * *

 **Did you like it?**

 **Please review, even if you didn't. Please keep reading, I am totally in love with this story!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	14. Chapter 14 (King of Kings)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 14. The King of Kings**

 **Hello! Thank you for all of your patience! I was super busy with exams and I just couldn't keep up. Anyways, thank you for all of your reviews. They really cheered me up and made my day. Here is the chapter you've been waiting for, I hope you enjoy this, I worked really hard on it!**

 **Anyway, this chapter is different. It explains the past of the Fairchilds and ect. Clary is not in this chapter, but it centers around her. It talks about her a lot.**

 **This stars the king across the sea. I hope you like it. The next chapter will be part two of Clary's past; it is about the abuse she suffered with Jonathon.**

 **Please read and enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 14.**

 **-Third Person POV-**

 _(Across Sejlag Bay, through the Red Arvia Sea, in the City of Aelunor in Cheviot Hills...)_

"Presenting to you, high lords ad maesters of the High Council, the King of Kings, Lord Rowan of House Destheon, Guardian of Men and Women, Defender of the Whitwood Law, Champion-"

"Yes, yes, we all know how it goes," Rowan grumbled, wheezing his way into the council room. The years had taken a heavy toll on him; his waistline, unfortunately, was not spared. "Champion of Redwain, the Battle for the Crown, so on. No one cares anymore. Leave, boy."

The squire went red, stuttering in mid-speech. "Y-yes, my lord," he mumbled, bowing as he ran out through the door.

The High Council, a small ambling of men high up in society, looked up at him. They were either lords or noblemen, along with a few advisers. He either disliked or distrusted most of them; sleazy cunts or gropers who would stab him in the back the moment the opportunity presented itself. There must have been at least six or seven of them, dressed up in silks and fine clothing.

Rowan made his way the chair at the front of the table, where he took his seat with an ungracious huff.

"It's been a long day, Rufus," Rowan warned his closest friend and trusted advisor. "There better be good news."

Tall, brooding with gaunt cheekbones and uneven streaks of grey hair, Rufus leaned forward with spindly fingers clasped together. "We are making progress with the savages in the South, my lord. We have successfully drove them back past the Riverbanks," he said in the similar, quiet drawn-out voice.

"We just need to claim their home front, and they'll be driven back to their crappy Wetlands," Ser Frederick, a prestigious knight, said. He was middle-aged, balding with rough features and a bulky build.

Rowan took a massive swing of his mead. "Excellent. I was sick of those flesh-eating cunts," he grunted, setting his goblet down with a bang. "Any other news?"

Beryn Cryelli, a sly, beady-eyed man with a small frame and a twitchy mouth, bowed his head. "Your Grace, I have an informant from the East, who speaks of alarming news," he said in the oddly calm voice that spoke of an accent in it.

"What news?" Rowan asked.

Cryelli paused for dramatic effect. "Jonathon Morgenstern has married his sister off to the Barbarian Lord of Idris," he said softly.

There was a roar of outrage; a mingle of arguments and disapproval. Rowan banged his fist against the table. "Silence!" He barked, sitting up. The effort left him slightly breathless. "Shut up, you shits!"

They quieted almost immediately. Rowan turned to Cryelli. "Tell me more about the Morgenstern girl," he demanded, trying to control his own rage. He should strangle the boy for his treachery.

"Still young," Cryelli said, "Only sixteen."

"It doesn't matter what her age is," Rowan said. "She's old enough to spread her legs and birth a dozen Morgenstern bastards with that barbarian king. Damn it!" He growled, banging the table. "The boy knows that he needs to discuss all matters of dealings with us! Treacherous cunt!"

Lord Edelu, an old eunuch who had served for longer than most, cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Your Grace, but hasn't the Morgenstern threat been eliminated?" He asked softly, long black hair braided back.

Rufus shook his head, looking more sombre than usual. "Not entirely. Valentine was more than willing to keep the peace, but his son is a madman and bent on power. His sister's marriage to the Barbarian Lord isn't about keeping the peace between the two kingdoms. The barbarians are savages, but there are thousands of them and they fight like no warrior I've ever seen."

"Jonathon Morgenstern could be the end of us," Cryelli said, eyes troubled. "If he calls for their army, they could storm our city. They have the numbers and the strength to face our army."

"We have the best trained knights in the country," Ser Frederick said defensively, "we could take on any army in the world."

"Don't be a fool," Cryelli scolded him. "The Idrisians are not to be trifled with. They are men of strength and brute force."

"Why does the Morgenstern even want Aelunor?" An advisor asked. "Surely Alicante is enough for him." _  
_

"The boy believes that Aelunor is his birthright. As well as the other kingdoms stolen from his ancestors during the Great War of The Seven Kings," Rowan grumbled. "Dumb shit. He's a power-hungry bastard."

"His father was decent man, and a good king," Rufus commented thoughtfully. "His death was unexpected, but at least we had peace with him."

"It was unexpected," Cryelli mused. "Very unexpected indeed."

Rowan raised his hand for silence. "Who was your source? Who told you this?" He asked, suspicion thick in his voice. Cryelli was a man with seven faces, and had another ten under that. Rowan would never trust him completely; he was simply too sly and seemed to know everything and be everywhere.

"A warlock, my lord. By the name of Magnus Bane. A raven arrived from him just this morning," Cryelli said, silky accent slipping over the ends of his words.

"Magnus Bane?" Rufus frowned, eyes crinkled at the edges. "The name sounds familiar."

"Yes, he served Your Grace's great grand-father, but was banished for the supposed practice of dark magic," Cryelli chimed.

"Are we supposed to trust a dark warlock?" Ser Frederick demanded, eyes fiery and defensive. "Forgive me, my lord, but it would be unwise to trust such a figure."

Rowan considered this. "What does he have to gain from this?" He asked Cryelli. "Last I heard, he was loyal to Valentine."

"He requests a royal pardon for his crimes," Cryelli said. "He wishes to return to Aelunor, to reclaim his lands and continue his healing professions."

"A royal pardon," Ser Frederick scoffed. "Does he think his crimes will be spared? He's more a fool than I thought."

Rowan shook his head. "We'll consider his pardon. However, we have more pressing issues. Rufus, how do you suppose we handle the Morgenstern girl?"

Rufus was silent for a moment, eyes lost deep in thought. "The girl is a threat. If we eliminate her, the alliance between Idris and Alicante is terminated. Jonathon Morgenstern will have no army to conquer Aelunor. No children will be conceived to continue the alliance. The girl-"

"Clarissa," Cryelli interrupted. "Her name is Clarissa."

Rufus nodded. "Yes, _Clarissa_ , could be the undoing of us all. She must be killed. It's the wisest course of action for you to take, my lord."

"We are talking about murdering a young girl," Lord Edelu said, looking troubled. "She must be around the same age as your son, my lord."

"This is war, Lord Edelu," Rowan said, though his mind was troubled. "Morals are compromised during times like this. However, the Morgenstern boy could declare war if we harm his sister."

"I doubt that, my lord," Cryelli interrupted. "The barbarians are a vicious and ruthless people. Would a loving brother hand his sister over to savages? Surely not. Besides, their raids on the Eastern villages have given us enough trouble as it is. "

"Nonetheless, it would be the perfect excuse for him to wage war," Rufus said.

"That's true," Frederick agreed. "But it's worth the risk. The girl cannot be allowed to live for any longer."

There was an outbreak of murmurs; mostly in agreement.

"Let us vote on this, as the High Council. Majority rules, as usual." He turned to Rufus. "Rufus, hold the vote."

Rufus nodded. "Of course, my lord." He stood, clasping his hands together. "All in favor for the elimination of the Morgenstern girl?"

Nearly all hands went up, save for Lord Edelu and two other maesters. Lord Edelu frowned, looking troubled.

"Majority rules," Rufus said, turning to Rowan. "Shall I send for the Viper, Your Grace?"

"No, Ser Frederick, you do it. Rufus, I'd like to speak with you. Alone. The High Council is dismissed," Rowan raised a hand; they filed out, save Rufus. "Walk with me, Rufus. I have matters I'd like to discuss with you."

"My lord," Rufus bowed, rising to his feet. They walked along the barracks, Rowan slightly out of breath. They reached the front of turrets, where the wind was high and fierce. Rufus was silent, dark eyes ominous, holding no hint of emotion. The two of them had basically grown up together, with Rufus living as a ward in the House of Destheon. His father was a prestigious knight, killed in battle. His mother died giving birth to a stillborn. There was no one Rowan trusted more.

"I'm anxious about the girl, Rufus," Rowan confessed. "She could potentially have a claim to the Crown. Her mother is a direct one of the First Folk. Jocelyn Fairchild was her name. Lucian's childhood love."

"Lucian Garroway?" Rufus asked, looking confused.

Rowan nodded. "Yes. However, Valentine was betrothed to her. My father arranged their marriage with Jocelyn's father. We had to keep the peace between our kingdoms; Jocelyn was married off to secure the East. It was a perfect plan until her bastard turned out to be a crazy shit."

"We are talking about one of our best knights, Ser Lucian Garroway?"

"Of course. But what I don't understand is how Magnus Bane chose to release information about Jocelyn's child. They were extremely close."

Rufus cleared his throat. "We would of heard about the girl eventually. Through Bane, or anyone else. There are no secrets in the world, Your Grace," Rufus said with the usual air of wisdom.

"It's more the girl's children I'm worried about. For all we know, she could be carrying the king's child as we speak."

"Why are you so concerned about the children she could bear?" Rufus asked. "Isn't her brother the more potential threat right now?"

"Valentine's marriage to Jocelyn was approved by the High Council. It was to maintain lasting peace for generations to come. Their children would seal the peace; however, my father did not count on the eldest being a complete cunt," Rowan grunted, taking another swing of his mead.

"I remember meeting Jocelyn as a child," Rufus said suddenly. "She was pretty."

Rowan raised an eyebrow. Rufus was never attracted to any woman before, and to even hear him comment on a woman's looks was surprising. "Yes. Red hair. Green eyes. Nice breasts," Rowan chortled.

"She was the perfect example of a Fairchild," Rufus said in a low voice.

"My father told me stories about them," Rowan said, remembering the late nights when he couldn't get to sleep as a child. "The First Folk. They were the first to hold the Crown. The First King, the Kings of Kings. Then, Abramius, the Eighth King was overthrown by my ancestors for being a lunatic. The Fairchilds were diminished, taken down and sent to the South."

"The Great War of The Seven Kings," Rufus said, recognition lighting in his eyes. "Yes. I know."

"Every child in Aelunor knows it," Rowan grumbled. "That's why the Morgenstern boy wants it."

Rufus nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. However, I must contact Magnus Bane. What should I say about his pardon?" He asked, his hands clasped in front of his sternum.

Rowan was silent for a moment. "He gets a royal pardon for the information. Bring me the parchment to sign and stamp. However, warn him that if he dares to try and mess with dark magic, he'll pay for it with his life."

Rufus bowed his head. "Of course, my lord. I'll send a raven by tonight."

"Good." Rowan nodded, dismissing him.

"You should visit Mabella," Rufus said, a lying undertone of gentleness to his tone. "The physician said she was improving. The fits are coming less frequently."

Rowan nodded curtly. Rufus bowed his head again, leaving like a ghost.

Rowan sighed, taking a long drag of his container. The alcohol helped, but he couldn't be drunk all the time. That, he found, was impossible.

He started to walk over to Mabella's room. She refused to let any sunlight into her chambers; she claimed it would burn her skin off. That was why her room was located so deeply in the castle. Only Rowan and their children, Doraan and Isodele, along with a few servants would be allowed into her room. She said that anyone else would be there to possess her soul and tear out her teeth.

The alcohol had numbed his brain; he rubbed his forehead, groaning as a dizzying headache pulsed. He ignored it, knowing full well that his endless lifestyle of drinking and eating was slowly killing him.

As was the guilt of sleeping with other women.

They never loved each other, he would tell himself. They were forced into marriage, and could barely stand to look at each other, even before Mabella's breakdown. Yet, he still felt the ever present feeling of remorse when he lay with other women, whores down at Cryelli's infamous brothel.

This was all while Mabella would sit in her room, mumbling to herself and pulling at her hair.

He blinked as he accidentally bumped into a wall. He shook his head to try and clear the grogginess. His vision was blurred, his head aching. He coughed violently; it was then that he noticed the blood that flew from his mouth.

"W-what, what is happening?" He mumbled; his fingers were shaking, cold sweat was dripping down his forehead. He bent over, on his knees, clutching at his throat.

He coughed; blood poured from his mouth as he rasped loudly.

"You couldn't even die nobly," a familiar voice said above him. "A shame, really."

Rowan went cold. He looked up, disbelief flooding through his veins.

It was his son.

Doraan.

Accompanying him was Lord Edelu, who looked like he was in pain and Ser Leofrick, who wore a dirty smirk on his face. Doraan stood with a pleased smile on his face. He was pale, with a stringy frame and light blue eyes, a striking image of his mother. He was always unusual; laughing at odd moments, walking with a hunch in his back, screaming when someone would walk up behind him.

"The King of Kings," Doraan sneered, kneeling down so they were eye level. "Pathetic. All you do is whore around and drink. You have no balls. I hope you know that you deserve this."

Rowan glared up at his son, blubbering at the mouth as blood trickled down his chin. He coughed again, his airway closed.

"It was almost too easy," Doraan laughed, a maniacal glint in his eyes. "You're dull enough to not notice the poison that Ser Leofrick poured into your pitcher this morning."

"Lord Edelu..." Rowan choked out, looking pathetically towards the eunuch for any sort of help.

The man looked at him with dark brown eyes, unflinching. "I apologize, Your Grace. I never wanted But Clarissa Morgenstern in the Last of the Fairchilds. She holds the Blood of the First Folk. She cannot be killed, nor can her children."

"Yes," Doraan smirked. "We have big plans for the kingdom. And unfortunately, they don't involve you, Father."

Rowan closed his eyes, collapsing. A rush of emotions flooded him; betrayal, hate, pain, remorse. The last thing he heard was Doraan, his voice echoing in his ears.

"All Hail, King Rowan Desetheon, King of Kings."

Then nothing.

* * *

"Do you understand what to do?" Rufus said sternly, eyes blazing as he addressed the dark figure in the corner of the room. "Tell me once more."

The man rolled his eyes, rolling a knife around in his fingers. Rufus couldn't help but notice he was missing two fingers, and how horribly maimed the third one looked. "Kill the Morgestern bitch. Make it look like accident. Be sure no one finds out it was you who ordered her assassination," he said in a low voice, a deep accent that ran through to Rufus's bones.

"I hope you understand exactly how important this is. The Viper was just sentenced to death by Dooran. He was the original killer meant for the princess. Be extremely careful. If they find you, they'll kill you. They're barbarians, remember? Complete savages with no moral code," Rufus said again, eyes hard.

"Do they know who killed the King?" The man asked, looking interested.

"It's not your business. All you need to know is that they found is body flung off the wall, impaled onto a pike only three days ago. The physician said it was suicide, but Rowan wouldn't do that."

"I get it. I make her death look like accident," the man confirmed, nodding his head.

"Good. The last thing we need is for the Idris King to declare war," Rufus said, sliding across a bag of gold. "You'll get the rest when you finish the job."

The man chuckled, tucking the bag into his pocket. There were three scars running down his face, scarring the white of his eye. "I dealt with barbarians before. They don't come here. They don't cross the sea; they fear it."

Rufus shook his head. "Bloed sal bloed hê," he said in Idrisian. "Blood will have blood. It's a popular saying of theirs. If they find out we killed their queen, they'll slit all of our throats."

The man nodded. "I'll see you in a few weeks. With the whore's head, if you want," he smiled, holding with knife up.

"Just leave," Rufus ordered, massaging his temples with thin fingers. His headache was worse than ever, throbbing in his head. The sleepless nights had finally taken a toll on him; there were dark circles under his eyes, his mouth a permanent thin line.

The man bowed mockingly, before exiting, nothing more than a shadow in the darkness. "Of course, my lord."

Rufus sighed, flexing out his sore fingers. He reached for the pitcher Rowan had last been drinking from, examining it with care. He swabbed a sample from within, and tentatively tasted with the tip of his mouth.

He spit it out almost immediately, flushing it from his mouth.

"Poison," he whispered, to no one in particular. The room was silent, except the echoing of the word that bounced around the room.

The last flames of the candles flickered out, dying.

* * *

 **Did you like? Please review and keep reading!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	15. Chapter 15 (Part 2)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 15. What Must Remain But In Our Past (Part 2)**

 **Hi everyone! This was the second part to chapter ten, where we had a flashback to the past. I wasn't going to do a third, but I decided I had to after this extended. I know you want more Clace, but I cant do much in this chapter. However, there is plenty in the next, I promise. In the next chapter, it'll be like a month skipped.**

 **All of your reviews were really good and supportive and made my day. Thank you so much! I will update really soon, I promise.**

 **Anyway, 15 MORE DAYS UNTIL SEASON 7 OF GOT AND I AM LITERALLY SO EXCITED!**

 **Is anyone else?**

 **Anyway, please keep reading and reviewing, I love you all!**

* * *

 **Chapter 15.**

 **-Third Person-**

The lands of Idris were ominous and terrifying, with gnarled tree that had faces like knobbly old men, glacial winds that hushed whispers throughout the land, odd plants and strange creatures. The dirt was rich and dark, and the entire atmosphere hummed with a sort of frenzied, violent energy. The lands were unfamiliar, unkempt; even the the air was foreign, tasting of pinewood and smoke and a bitter metallic aroma.

Valentine was dressed in thick robes of silk and fine furs, yet he still felt the chill of the Idrisian winter. The air was harsh with the promise of hard days to come; the winter had arrived.

It was the worst winter by far, with thick snow and sleets of vicious rain. The earth was frozen solid, and ice dripped from spiraling branches, picturesque but cold to the touch.

It was a bitter time for Alicante, with food rationing, poor harvesting, awful cases of frostbite and a vicious call for more clothing.

However, despite everything, Valentine still had his had reached her twelve name day; Jonathon, his sixteenth. His daughter was a fierce young thing, with her mother's vibrant red hair and vivacious green eyes. She had a temper to be trifled with and a stubborn tendency to do exactly what she pleased. She was the becoming of her mother.

Valentine missed his wife, dearly. There was not a day that passed where his heart did not ache with the loss of Jocelyn. However, it was his duties as a king, and the loyalty he owed to his people that kept him going.

If not, he would not be in the middle of the freezing, frozen forest surrounded by dark-skinned Idrisians who held spears and swords in their hands, glowering at him like they wanted nothing more than to strike him down.

He was here on a diplomatic mission, to try and sort peace between the two kingdoms of Alicante and Idris.

It was a hard job, but one that had to be done.

He was here now, to greet the King of Idris, Lord of the Barbarians; The Koning Jeroki. The Idrisians were not people to be trifled with; they had a massive army, comprised of men bigger than bears and thicker than ox's. They had thousands of horses and riders that thundered the land. Stories and legends spoke of their strength and power, how they would ride across the plains of The Eastern Gale and raid towns and crumble entire cities to dust.

They were horse riders, but settled down after tens of thousands for years in a castle made by the gods.

Alicante and Idris had been clashing for years. The Idrisians stole and raided from the villages on the outer lands of Alicante, which stirred the citizens of Alicante into an angered frenzy. However, they did not have the manpower to take on the fierce _vloedriders_ of Idris.

But now, hopefully with the help of the Koning Jeroki, there could be peace, one that lasted through to Clarissa and Jonathon's lifetime.

Valentine shivered, his teeth chattering as the cold invaded his senses. He coughed, violently, hacking up into his hand.

"Your Grace, are you alright?" A knight asked him from his left. Valentine had brought his own ensemble of soldiers and advisors, but kept it small to make it as non-threatening as possible.

Valentine had felt awful lately, with terrible coughs and an onset of fevers that lasted for hours. Despite this, he managed a small nod. "I'm fine, Ser Peyne. Just the cold," he said.

Ser Peyne bowed respectfully.

The Koning had bought his group of warriors, along with a flock of horses that were strong and thick with muscles. The Koning was yet to emerge and was now in discussion with a group of men, all wearing leather and furs. Three men, all tall and coppery skinned with long braided hair, guarded them. They looked upon the Kingsguard with distrust, and distaste.

They had been waiting for hours; Valentine's people were getting restless. Their horses sensed this, and skittered in the snow.

Finally, the Koning appeared. He was just as terrifying as the rest, but seemed even more powerful. He exuded strength and dominance, with broad shoulders and rippling muscles. His hair was light, odd for an Idrisian, and long as it spilt down his shoulders. He wore thick fur coats and the typical leather of the barbarians.

Valentine tried not to look afraid. The Idrisians respected fear as much as they followed it.

A young girl followed him, a maid of twelve.

She looked around Clarissa's age, with flowing dark hair, white skin and brown eyes. Her movements were graceful, yet there was a steel in her eyes. She wore traditional Idrisian clothing; however, she happened to have a sword clutched in hand.

Her eyes burned into Valentine's skull, dark and threatening as she glowered at him.

The Koning spoke quietly to her, a fatherly hand on her shoulder. She glared at valentine once more, before unsheathing her sword.

Valentine turned to his soldiers. "Leave your weapons behind. Show them that you mean no harm," he instructed, dropping his own sword into a crate they had brought.

The soldiers passed furtive glances between them, looking unsure. "Your Grace, is it wise to-" Ser Hendrick asked, his eyes flashing.

Valentine held up a hand; the knight felt silent. "Ser Hendrick, the peace must start with trust. We have to show them that we can be diplomatic. We are damaging our chances at a treaty if we bring weapons to a meeting."

Ser Hendrick looked at the group of Idrisian soldiers. "Of course, my lord," he said, dropping his sword into the chest; the others followed suit, metal clashing against metal.

The Idrisians looked on, ever untrusting.

Valentine

The Idrisians advanced, solid, sure steps that trekked into the snow. Valentine and his group did the same, but with more uncertainty. They met, just a stone's throw apart. The air was thick with tension and hatred and mistrust.

The Koning stepped forward. "Valentyn van Alicante, jy het my vandag hier gebel om 'n wapenstilstand te bespreek. Wat het jy te bied om te vergoed vir die honderde van my soldate wat jy geslag het?" He said in gruff Idrisian, making Valentine's soldiers stir in confusion.

The girl stepped forward, back straight, a determined look on her fierce face. "Valentine of Alicante, you have called me here today to discuss a truce. What do you have to offer, to compensate for the hundreds of my soldiers you have slaughtered?" She said in perfect English, voice clear and loud. She was the translator, Valentine realized.

"We are not here to discuss the mistakes of our past, or the lives that have been taken because of our feud. We are here to discuss the means of peace for the sake of our children, and their children after the," Valentine reasoned, his voice mustering a tone of diplomacy.

The girl turned to the group of soldiers and translated into Idrisian.

There was a low rumbling amongst the Idrisians; there was an uneasy stirring of movement amongst Valentine's Kingsguard.

The Koning stayed silent, until he held up a hand. He murmured to something to the girl, who looked at him in surprise. She asked him a question; he nodded.

He walked forward with the girl, who's sword remained tucked into her sheath.

Valentine followed his actions; when the guard made to go forward, he stopped them. "I think he walks to talk in private," Valentine said, his hand out.

Ser Frederick frowned. "Your Grace, I feel as if I should come with you. For protection."

"No," Valentine said firmly. "Trust is the key. I must do this by myself."

The knight fell silent, nodding his head.

Valentine walked forward, alone, silent footsteps treading through the snow. The Koning and the girl waited, fierce and bold amongst the swell of the winter. They were now just steps away.

"Moenie my buitelander oorsteek nie. As jy jou lewe waardeer, sal jy nie," the Koning said with a hard face, oddly colored eyes never leaving Valentine's eyes. Valentine found the Idrisian language to be rough and coarse, but was fascinated by the vicious beauty of the exotic words.

"Don't cross me, foreigner. If you value your life, you won't," the girl repeated in English, dark eyes as cold as the ice below them.

"I swear it by the Gods of Old, I won't," Valentine promised, drawing his furs closer around him.

The girl softly repeated the words to the Koning.

"Baie goed," he said over the whistling of the harsh wind. "Sê vir my die bepalings van die verdrag wat jy wil hê."

"Very well. Tell me the terms of the treaty you wish to have," the girl said once more.

"I have spoken to the High Council in the city of Aelunor," Valentine explained. "They have agreed to allow a peace treaty; King Rowan Destheon has written to me himself. We would have a mutual understanding to stay off each other's land, and no lives will be taken should our people ever encounter."

The Koning stayed silent as the girl parroted Valentine's words.

Valentine tried another way. "It would mean that we would agree to no more killing. No more wasted deaths of our peoples. It would be an agreement to stay mutual, and keep the peace."

The great beast of the man before him narrowed his eyes. "Hoe kan ek die woorde van 'n wit duiwel soos jy vertrou?" He growled; Valentine tensed, feeling tension stir in the wind. Though he didn't understand the words, he still felt the repressed anger underneath them.

"How can I trust the words of a white devil like you?" The girl said, a ghost of a smile on her face.

Valentine knew that the Koning meant to upset him, but he refrained from responding to the insult. "A leap of faith, Koning. I want my men to go home to their wives and children. Not their graves."

The girl looked at Valentine with curiosity, relaying his words. The Koning's defensive stance didn't relax, but his eyes were less hard. "Stel jy 'n alliansie voor?" He asked, frowning.

"Are you suggesting an alliance?" The girl repeated, dark eyes narrowing.

Valentine hesitated. The High Council made it clear that there was to be no sort of alliance that involved any sort of military pact between Alicante and Idris. The history between Aelunor and Valentine's ancestors was of bad blood; the people over there had disliked and mistrusted Morgensterns for centuries. "Of a sort, yes. But more a treaty," Valentine explained as best as he could. "To end the war between our two kingdoms."

The Koning considered this. He remained impassive as the snow fell around him; a light dusting on his shoulders. "Weet jy hoe ons bondgenootskappe gevorm het toe my pa van my pa die koning was?" The Koning asked, a question framing his tone.

The girl looked carefully to her king, a crease on her forehead. "Do you know how we formed alliances back when mine father of my father was the king?" She repeated.

Valentine shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Deur die huwelik," the Koning said. "Niks is sterker as die band van bloed nie."

"Through marriage. Nothing is stronger than the bond of blood," the girl said carefully, looking confused.

Valentine's blood turned to ice. "What do you mean?"

"My seun is van ouderdom af. En jy het 'n dogter, ja?" The Koning looked at Valentine with bold eyes.

"My son is coming of age. And you have a daughter, yes?" The girl said with pursed lips, looking disbeeliving at the Koning. "My koning, jy kan nie moontlik oorweeg om jou seun weg te gee aan 'n buitelandse prinses nie."

 _(My king, you cannot possibly consider giving your son away to some foreign princess)._

The Koning held up a hand. "Stilte, Isabelle," he ordered.

 _(Silence, Isabelle)._

Th girl, Isabelle, bowed her head.

Valentine cleared his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. "Yes, I have a daughter. She's only a young maid of twelve. Still a little girl," Valentine said, a hint of pleading in his voice. Not his little Clarissa. She wasn't ready for the harsh world, nor was it ready for her.

"My vrou was met my getroud toe sy net dertien was. Ons lewens is kort en vlugtig in hierdie wêreld. Die oomblikke vir besluite soos hierdie moet nou wees."

"My wife was married to me when she was merely thirteen. Our lives are short and fleeting in this world. The moments for decisions like this must be now," Isabelle said, her eyes troubled as she parroted the Koning's words.

Valentine didn't want Clarissa to marry a barbarian. In fact, he didn't want her to marry anyone at all. She was his child, as she would always be. The Idrisians were a savage and brutal race of people who stole and raided.

He wouldn't allow her to marry the future king of their people.

"She's too young," Valentine pleaded. "She's still a little girl."

The Koning's face showed no sympathy as Isabelle translated Valentine's words. "En my seun is nog steeds 'n seun," he said, eyes hard. "Ouderdom is geen verskoning nie."

"And my son is still a boy," Isabelle said. "Age is no excuse."

Valentine frowned, cold sweat gathering at the back of his collar. An image of Clarissa in Idrisian clothing, terrified, as a giant ox of a man gripped her arm, flooded his vision.

"Please," Valentine asked again, feeling nauseous, his head spinning. "S-she's-"

He gasped as his heart was suddenly spiked with pain. He heaved, kneeling over. His vision swirled as coughed violently, his head blurred with aching, fiery pain.

There were yells and shouts from behind him; a sudden rampage of footsteps sounded behind him.

Isabelle's voice, watery and echoed, was urgent as the footsteps advanced. "My heer, ons moet gaan," she whispered.

(My lord, we must go).

"Kill the barbarian scum!" Ser Federick yelled behind him. "They poisoned our king!"

"N-no!" Valentine chocked out, shivering as heat and ice flooded through his veins. "D-don't attack!"

His words were lost in the wind as his soldiers screamed for vengeance, .

Valentine collapsed to the floor, the ice burning like fire as the snow flooded his lungs.

* * *

Clary couldn't keep still. Her hands were jittery in her lap, her feet restless as she struggled to keep her tears at bay. It was late, extremely so, yet she felt wide awake. Her whole body was filled with nerves, a confusing blend of feelings; fear, hopelessness, nausea. She was waiting outside her father's room, with Bryta next to her, gripping Clary's hand. Jonathon was nowhere to be seen.

She couldn't lose her father. Not after everything else. The gods couldn't take him away; she still needed him. Her lower lip quivered; her eyes pooled with tears. She forced them away. She had to be strong.

Bryta tightened her grip on Clary's hand, stroking her hair. Clary leaned into her shoulder, the familiar smell of cinnamon and firewood a trivial comfort.

The door to her father's room opened; Clary leapt to her feet, heart pounding in her chest.

The physician, a kindly old man named Lukis, exited. He spotted Clary's hopeful face, and shook his head, his eyes downcast. Clary's hope dropped like a stone to her feet. "I apologize, Princess. But I'm afraid he hasn't got long," the old man wheezed out.

Despair clawed at Clary's heart. "Can I see him?" She asked thickly, tears choking up her airway.

"Of course," Lukis said sadly, bowing his head. "I've given him the Milk of the Poppy to help dull his pain, but I'm afraid he's in a great deal of agony." The words were enough to almost break her heart.

"Do they know the cause of his illness?" Bryta asked, standing up to place her hand onto Clary's shoulder.

A crease appeared between the physician's eyebrows. "No. His sudden illness is most peculiar. But, dear princess, I'm afraid you only have one last time to see him. Use it wisely."

Clary nodded tearfully, heading for her father's room.

Clary walked into her father's room; slow, hesitant steps. The image of her father, laying in his bed, with weak breaths, broke her. She rushed over into his arms, sobbing as she did so. Tears, thick and fast, fell down her cheeks.

Her father coughed weakly, his face unusually pale. "Don't cry, my sweet," the man in the bed said.

Clary hiccuped, tears salty and bitter in her mouth. "Father..." she whispered, her hands shaking. He grabbed her fingers, his usual strength gone. His hair was strained with white flecks, wrinkles etched deep into the white of his skin. There were deep, blue bruises underneath his eyes.

He looked old. And so very tired. Like he had held the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Another tear slithered down her cheek. She sniffled, closing her eyes. "I love you, father. Please, please don't leave me. I still need you," she said softly, pressing her face into his shoulder; a habit of her's she had had since she was little.

"I'm sorry, my doe. I'm so sorry." His stare was blank. "I'll always be there, Clarissa. Watching over you." Clary sobbed, pain streaking through her heart. "You'll always be my little girl."

Clary felt her heart shatter like glass. She cried her heart out, her tears streaming like the morning rivers. "Ave, fortis miles in pugna est super," she whispered softly in Latin.

 _(Hail, brave soldier, for your fight is over)._

These were the words that the people of Alicante would say to the knights and men who had passed in battle.

Clary didn't care that he didn't die in the battlefield, with the honor that most men had.

Her father smiled weakly, kissing her forehead gently. "It is with sorrow I part from this world, my doe. I have done a lot of things wrong, but I know that you, my one redemption, will ascend me to the Lord. Forgive me, my sweet child, for leaving you in this cruel, cruel world."

Hot tears spiraled down her cheeks. "Of course I will," she said, her vision blurred as she choked out her words, knowing fully well that any moment could be her father's very last. "Of course I do. I'd forgive you for anything."

Valentine exhaled harshly, looking pleased. "Bryta will take care of you, Clarissa. You and Jonathon will be fine," Valentine said, his eyes slowly closing. "You'll be just fine. I promise."

Clary's chest heaved as his breathing eventually slowed, then stopped completely.

He was gone.

Dead, snatched from her by fate; a cruel twist in time.

Her cries were heard all throughout the night. The villagers mourned the death of their beloved king. Hundreds of people that night lit candles to show their respect. The knights prepared the king's body for burial, heads bowed low as they did so.

Meanwhile, the heir to the throne of Alicante, the son of the King, was still nowhere to be seen.

* * *

There was a quiet knock on Clary's door. "Clarissa?" Bryta asked, her voice muffled through the solid oak.

Clary didn't bother to turn around. "Come in," she said softly, staring blindly out of her window. She had done nothing but sit in her bedside chair for the past few days, consumed by her heartbreak. She felt...empty. Like someone who had taken out her heart, crushed it into pieces and stashed it away in a dark, deep hole.

Bryta opened the door, making her way over to the grieving daughter of the king. In her arms lay a tray of food; warm, buttery bread, apples and even specially made orange juice. Bryta set the tray down onto the table. "Clarissa, you need to eat something. You haven't had a bite in four days," Bryta murmured, taking a seat next to Clary. "Please, eat something."

Clary shook her head. "I'm not hungry," she said stubbornly. Her eyes were sore and dry from her endless cries, her cheeks stained with tears.

She was tired.

So, so tired.

And empty.

Broken.

And there was a gaping hole in her chest, one that she knew would never heal.

Bryta touched her shoulder. "Clary, your father would of wanted you to keep on going," she said softly.

Clary felt a defensive shield slip up between the two of them. "He's dead," she said harshly, pushing herself away from the woman she had regarded as her mother for most of her life. "You don't know what he would of wanted." She knew she was being snappy and irrational, but she didn't care. She didn't really care about anything anymore.

Bryta sighed, not knowing what to say. "How about I sing you a lullaby?" She asked.

Clary said nothing, turning her head away, her eyes downcast.

Suddenly, there was a harsh knock on the door. It was two soldiers, dressed in the colors of House Morgenstern. Bryta rose to her feet; Clary stayed in her chair, barely even interested.

"Princess Clarissa," one of the knights said. "Your Brother, King Jonathon of Alicante, Lord and Savior of the Mellowood Lore, requests your presence in the throne room."

This caught Clary's attention. "My brother is not the king yet," she said, eyes narrowed. "He has not yet reached his coronation; he is still of sixteen years. He cannot be king." A chill trickled down Clary's spine; she had the feeling that something was very, very wrong. Her brother on the throne? It couldn't be.

"The Law has changed," the other knight said. "And you must obey your king."

One of them reached for their swords, as a promise of a threat. "We are to bring you to the throne room, with force if required."

Bryta rose up like a fiery mama bear. "The girl is grieving the death of father," she protested, anger in her hard eyes. "Leave her be, for God's sake. Jonathon's matters can wait."

"No," Clary said, rising from her seat. "I have matters I need to discuss with my brother." Determination filled through her veins like fire. She looked boldly towards the knights. "Take me to my brother."

The knights led her out, Bryta looking hopelessly after them.

Clary reached the throne room; the man there hurriedly opened the doors for her. She rushed through; however, she stopped dead in her tracks, her breath caught in her throat. Shock wiped her mind blank. How was it possible? How could anyone ever allow it?

Yet it was true.

Jonathon sat in the throne, the King's crown nestled on his head of white hair. He wore regal robes of purple, the proud flags of Morgenstern hung up behind him. The courtroom was full of people; knights, high lords, nobility, visiting royalty.

His cold, green eyes met her own. Fear rooted her to the spot as her vision swirled.

"All Hail, King Jonathon of House Morgenstern, First of His Name! Long may he reign!" A eunuch announced from beside him. Trumpets blew as he did so, announcing a joyous occasion.

It was anything but.

"Long may he reign!" The courtroom echoed, cheering as Jonathon rose from his throne. A passing maid brought his a platter with fine wine and cheese to dine on; Jonathon accepted, winking at her as he did.

Clary felt as if she was underwater, the words harsh and muffled as the world swayed in her vision

Jonathon smiled at Clary as he sipped from a golden goblet.

 _Long may he reign._

* * *

 **Did you like? Sorry it doesn't have any Clace, but the next chapter will have lots, I swear.**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	16. Chapter 16 (Free The Slaves)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 16. Free The Slaves**

 **Hi guys! OH MY GOD, TWO UPDATES IN TWO DAYS, YAY. It's holidays now, so I have so much free time. Now, about this chapter; there is no Jace. I'M SO SO SORRY :( However, the plot line increased and expanded until I didn't even know what happened. I'm so sorry. But this is like my favorite chapter ever, and I hope all of you love it to. It's set like a month after the previous chapter and I'm in love with the new Clary. Please enjoy!**

 **Now, I know there's no Clace, but Clary realizes her feelings. GASP. And she's all 'liberate the slaves' as you can guess from the title. I swear it on my grave, the next chapter will be all about the Clace life. I promise.**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews, I loved every single one of them. Please read and review!**

 **Love you all!**

* * *

 **Chapter 16.**

 **-Clary-**

"Lykaios! Come!" Clary called in a demanding voice. Her wolf looked up, ears perked up as he bounded towards her. It had been over a month since she had rescued him from the forest. He had grown rapidly, and was much bigger than any dog she had ever seen before. He was terrifying, with sharp teeth and claws that gleamed like knives. Even the fiercest of the Idrisian warriors avoided Lykaios, weary of his overprotective nature of Clary and his vicious set of teeth and claws.

Lykaios loathed Jace, even as a pup, and growled when he came near.

It was funny, really; their mutual dislike for each other.

She adored Lykaios, and had spent hours training him. Wolves were extremely loyal; Lykaios even more so. He followed her almost everywhere; Clary didn't need to be guarded when she had the perfect killing machine right next to her.

He was nearly as tall as the smallest horses in the stables; however, he showed no sign of stopping any time soon.

She too herself had grown. Sometimes, she could barely recognize the person she had become.

She was now near-fluent in Idrisian, and spoke it like she was a native. She no longer cowered in the presence of the warriors; instead, she commanded them. She ruled beside her husband, and learnt from Malachi's wisdom. She dressed in traditional Idrisian clothing, wore war paint and led chants and prayers. She knew the natives, and could comfortably laugh and talk with them.

She wasn't the scared little girl from Alicante anymore.

She wasn't the girl that had arrived just over two months ago, terrified of the foregin world around her.

She was changed.

She was a new.

And now, she was finally the true Koningin of Idris.

Someone her father and mother would be proud of. A creature free from Jonathon's sadistic influence.

Jace had been gone for almost three weeks ago, on a raid on the Eastern villages. She was worried; why had they been gone for so long? She knew the cause of her worry, but refused to acknowledge them.

She was worried about Jace.

More than worried.

She was stressing about him.

She had long ago realized that she had...feelings for her husband. Feelings that she had long ago stored deep inside of her heart.

He was terrifying.

But he was so kind.

He was a barbarian, supposedly ruthless and unforgiving, the Lord of Idris.

Yet he was gentle and kind with her. He helped her when she needed it, comforted her when she missed her home.

He shut everyone out.

But sometimes, he let her in.

And when he did, she could see the broken and hurt inside.

Jace made her feel strong when all she had done for most of her life was feel weak.

But she didn't act on it.

She couldn't.

There were no way she could ever possibly know he returned whatever it was she felt. But there were times; times when he would touch her shoulder, brush her hair. The time when he caressed her face when he was about to leave on his raid. A swift kiss on her forehead, his stronghand clutching the nape of her neck, before mounting his horse, leaving her dumbstruck. It was enough to leave her with red in her cheeks, a girlish smile on her lips.

She missed Jace. More than anything.

And she just wanted him home.

Lykaios growled softly, nudging her hand to try gain her attention. She smiled at him, scratching in between his ears.

They were laying in the sun, reading the book Jace had given her whilst she was sick. The wind was soft and gentle today, with only a few clouds spotting the periwinkle-blue sky.

"Mag die Perde Here, sy siel vir ewig gerus in die heilige sale van Duunrikan, reën op ons vyande met die magtige krag van sy Jeigukedin-weermag," Clary read the words of the War of the Souls.

 _(May the Horse Lord, his soul forever rested in the hallowed halls of Duurikan, rain down on our enemies with the mighty force of his Jeigukedin army)._

It was early morning, and the sun was high and mellow up in the clear sky. They were in the back gardens, Clary reading as Lykaios snapped at bugs and rolled around in the grass.

Clary returned her gaze to the page. Her eyes strayed to the underlining part where translated English was scripted. "The most sacred river in Idris, the Quileare, is considered magical. It saved the Fire God's son from death when he was cast out from the heavens," she read aloud, "It is said to only appear once or twice to a man; however, a proper tribute may appease the river goddess and force the Quileare to appear.

"The river is said to have magical properties; most men have gone mad trying to find it, but to no avail. It is said in a myth, spoken by the great prophet Deljaluk, that the river has the possibility of bringing a man back from the dead."

It was the river that Helen had taken her to. However, Clary couldn't even begin to consider it was magical.

How could it have the power to bring back men from the dead?

Before Clary could begin to even contemplate the words she had read, there was a sudden horn blown in the distance. Clary's head perked up, her breath coming out in a strangled gasp.

The raiding party were home!

And that would mean that Jace was also back as well.

Clary leapt to her feet, heart pounding in her chest. She collected her things, calling over a handmaiden. "Neem my dinge terug na my kamer, asseblief," she told her, barely able to contain her excitement.

 _(Take my things back to my room, please)._

The girl bowed, taking Clary's book and quilt. "Ja, my koningin," she said, before walking away.

 _(Yes, my queen)._

Clary ran to the front gates, Lykaios at her heels. There were dozens of soldiers, laughing and growling at each other as they dismounted their horses, carrying loads of stolen jewellery, metals and other goods. Her eyes searcjed for the familiar, golden-haired man but couldn't see him ran straight to Alec, who was bloody and grim-faced as he dismounted his horse. He looked surprised as she stopped before him, chest heaving. She looked around for Jace's horse; they were nowhere in sight.

"Where's the Koning?" She asked, her hope slowly dwindling; Lykaios licked at her hand, sensing her distress.

Alec reined in his horse. "He had to stay behind," he said carefully, cold blue eyes still wary of her. "He'll be back in a day or two."

Clary frowned, feeling disappointment flood her veins.

He wasn't back.

She tried to muster a smile. "Thank you, Alec. I'll be out with Callisto for the afternoon," she told him. A ride out in the hillside, Lykaios sprinting alongside them, wind in her hair, the feeling of total and complete freedom; it was always enough to cheer her up.

Alec's eyebrows furrowed. "I have to go with you," he said grudgingly. Alec didn't like her, Clary knew, but he was sworn by oath to protect her. Besides, Jace had made him swear to take care of her.

"I have Lykaios," Clary reasoned. "I'll be fine."

Alec nodded curtly.

Clary turned away, biting at her lip. She started to head to the stables, wondering if Simon was there today. She was nearly there when she suddenly froze, rooted to the spot at the horrible scene before her.

The captured slaves.

All women, chained and shackled to each other, were lined up near the woods. Clary noticed that some were barely out of their adolescence, not even thirteen. They were huddled together, clothes torn, bodies bloodied as cries and sobs were dealt out amongst them. The Idrisian warriors were prowling around them, holding whips and shouting at the ones who were crying too loudly. Some of the women were mounted, being raped and taken openly in front of the others.

It made Clary see red; anger that tinted her vision. It made her sick to the stomach.

She had accustomed herself to the Idrisian traditions and other customs. The blood and harsh ways only bothered her slightly. But she couldn't bear slavery; the disgusting fact that one person could claim another as their own.

She had always had a deep sympathy for the oppressed peoples of the world.

This was due to the endless abuse she had suffered from her brother; the constant terror she had faced with the one person who was supposed to love and protect her. The endless torture that she was forced through at his hands; the hands that had made her feel so weak and useless.

And she couldn't cower away, pretending that it didn't exist.

She had to be strong.

She couldn't let these women, innocent yet spoiled by the world, be treated like she was.

She had to do something.

Like a true queen would.

No, a Koningin.

She walked towards the warriors, shoulders set, mouth set in a determined line, her eyes hard. Lykaios padded along after her, a low rumbling gathering in his chest. There was a fiery anger growing in her body, tingling and alive.

She reached the head _vloedrider_ , the leader of the group of warriors who were basically the brothers of the Koning, with a bond stronger than blood. The man, Yiouki, was a terrifying beast of a man; at least seven feet, broad chest, muscles thicker than an ox. He looked around forty, and had a grim look in his onyx-black eyes.

Despite this, she held up her chin and looked him square in the eyes.

He looked down at her, distaste in his eyes. Many of the warriors disliked her, due to the bloody feud between Alicante and Idris. "My Koningin," he said respectfully, bowing with a slight motion.

She nodded curtly. "Yiouki," she scowled back. "Wat beplan jy om met hierdie vroue te doen?"

 _(What do you plan on doing with these women?)_

Although the warriors spoke both English and Idrisian, Clary found that they listened to her more when she discussed with them in their native language.

"Baie gaan na die hoerhuis toe. Party sal ons aan die krygers gee wat die beste in die geveg gemaak het," he replied, crossing his massive arms across his chest.

 _(Many are going down to the whorehouse. Some, we'll give to the warriors who made the best kills in battle)._

The monster inside Clary riled it's head, hissing as she struggled to maintain her temper. "Hulle is mense, nie jou eiendom nie!" She hissed, her eyes alight. "Hulle behoort aan niemand behalwe hulself nie!"

 _(They are people, not your property! They belong to no one but themselves!)_

The _vloedrider_ frowned. "Ons het hulle regmatig in die stryd geëis. Hulle behoort aan ons."

 _(We claimed them rightfully in the battle. They belong to us)._

"Jy het hulle geëis terwyl hulle in hul beddens geslaap het en hul vaders en mans vermoor het en hul ma's geslaan het. U eis is niks meer as 'n daad van lafhartigheid en boosheid nie, 'n mes wat gedurende die nag getrek is," Clary said, her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched.

 _(You claimed them while they slept in their beds, killing their fathers and husbands, striking down their mothers. Your claim is nothing more than an act of cowardice and malice, a knife drawn during the night)._

Yiouki's npstrils flared like an enraged bull. "Versigtig, buitelander. Ek sal jou slaan as jy nie my koning se vrou was nie," he snarled, suddenly towering over her.

 _(Careful, foreigner. I'd strike you down if you weren't my king's wife)._

Clary should have felt fear.

But she didn't.

She was so sick and tired of being scared all the time, of the people, of the world around her. Fear was a constant presence in her chest, pressing down on her constantly, all the time, until she could barely breathe.

However, it was high time she grew a backbone.

Starting as of this moment.

She glared right back at him. Apparently, Lykaios wasn't too fond of Yiouki threatening Clary. The wolf growled menacingly at the warrior, his ears flattened back as his yellow eyes glowed. Yiouki looked wary of him, stepping back as the Lykaios snapped his vicious fangs, his teeth bared.

Clary felt a sense of satisfaction grow in her, warming her bones. She smiled, stroking Lykaios between his ears. "Het jy geweet dat wolwe die vermoë het om 'n man se kop van hul nekke te rip?" She grinned up at him. "Ek wil nie een keer pis nie."

 _(Did you know that wolves have the ability to rip a man's head from their necks?) (I wouldn't want to piss one off)._

The man took another cautious step back. "Roep jou hond uit," he said nervously, swallowing as Lykaios advanced. His coat, silver and thick, shimmered in the glow of the sun.

 _(Call off your hound)._

"Lykaios, heel," Clary ordered. He returned to her side, panting heavily. Clary returned her gaze to Yiouki, who sneered down at her. "Hierdie vroue behoort nou aan my. Ek eis hulle as koningin van Idris en as Clarissa Morgenstern van Huis Fairchild, afkoms van die eerste volk."

 _(These women belong to me now. I claim them, as Queen of Idris and as Clarissa Morgenstern of House Fairchild, descent of the First Folk)._

The other vloedriders and various other warriors had all stopped to stare at Clary. The tension in the air was thick and strained; however, Clary refused to stand down.

She turned to the warriors. "Sny hulle kettings af," she ordered, her voice sharp like steel.

 _(Cut off their chains)._

The warriors shifted, looking unsure as they rumbled amongst themselves.

"Nou." She said in a voice of finality.

 _(Now)._

Lykaios barked, his fangs bared. The soldiers got to work, drawing out their swords and snapping the women's chains off. The women looked disbelieving as they rubbed their arms, wiping their tears away, getting to their feet.

Clary looked at Yiouki once more. "En as enige kryger of man soveel as 'n vinger op hulle lê, sal ek hul koppe op die mure laat sit," she said coldly; the venom from her words stung deep. "Is dit duidelik?"

 _(And if any warrior or man so much as lays a finger on them, I'll have their heads mounted onto the walls). (Is that clear?)_

The warriors nodded slowly, some looking sheepish, many of them looking more pissed than anything. However, they didn't dare try anything.

"Los ons." She commanded, her voice strong and powerful.

 _(Leave us)._

They left, one by one. Yiouki shot her a death glare, his teeth bared. "One day, you won't have your mutt or your title," he warned her in English, chest vibrating with anger. "And it will be you and me."

Clary raised an eyebrow, challenging him. "You threaten me ever again, and you'll see what happens," she told him, taking another step in his direction.

Yiouki left in a rage, snapping at the other warriors.

They were all almost gone, when one of them that caught her eye, a boy no older than her. He was a lowly warrior in the ranks, his tattoos told her, not yet a man. She remembered him vaguely from the Wanheeda ceremony where he had been one of the first initiated. The boy standing off to the side, expression pained as he observed the captured women. Clary called him back, curious.

He was of a lean build, with initiation scars across his broad chest, soft eyes and a handsome face. He stopped just before her, kneeling onto one knee. "My Koningin," he murmured, rising.

"What's your name?" She asked him.

"Jordaan," he responded. "I apologize for the _vloedrider's_ word. He cruel man. Should not speak to our Koningin in such way." He was polite and well-spoken, she noticed, with respect in his warm brown eyes.

She considered him. "How old are you?"

"Not yet sixteen, my Koningin," the boy responded. He was nothing like Jonathon at his own age;

"A Koningin chooses her warrior, a champion to serve and defend her," she told him. "I do not yet have one."

His eyebrows furrowed. "My Koningin?"

"If you accept, I choose you as my soldaat, Jordaan of Idris," she said, her mind made up. According to tradition, the Koningin was able to choose a group of three or less warriors that were like the _vloedriders_ , except for the queen, known as the _soldaat_. They were the warriors of the Koningin. Clary didn't dare even ask before, but now, looking down at Jordaan, she knew she was choosing right. "Do you choose to accept?"

Jordaan lowered his head, bending down onto one knee. "My koningin, dit is met trots dat ek hierdie groot eer aanvaar. Ek sal jou tot aan die einde van my dae dien en sweer om jou te beskerm, selfs al beteken dit die einde van my eie," he recited the words of the oath.

 _(My queen, it is with pride that I accept this great honor. I'll serve you until the end of my days and swear to protect you even if it means the end of my own)._

"Ek sweer om jou te laat dien en my te beskerm en om nooit van jou iets te vra wat jou of jou koninkryk skaam sal bring nie," Clary delivered the second part of the oath. "Rise, soldaat. We have urgent matters."

 _(I swear to let you serve me and protect me, and to never ask anything of you that would bring shame to you or your kingdom)._

Clary turned to the group of now freed women, her heart beating fast, her mind unsure. She walked slowly towards them, her movements attempting to be as non-threatening as possible. They all stared at her, eyes frightened, yet curious. Lykaios and Jordaan followed.

She swallowed, clearing her throat. "I am Clary Morgenstern, Queen of Idris," she said in a comforting voice. "No harm will ever come to you while you are here, I swear it. I'm sorry that I can't take you back to your homes, but there's nothing there for you anymore. None of you belong to anyone; the men here can't claim you, nor can I. I grant you freedom, but you must also claim it for yourself. You are no longer slaves, nor you will ever be as long as you are under my protection. You are free to leave. This land is yours."

A dark-skinned girl, with a curly head of hair and arched eyebrows, translated Clary's words into their language, her words soft and soothing.

The women stared at her, with bated breath, clutching at each other. Then, one girl, one voice, said a word that changed everything.

"Nyuola!" She cried, big blue eyes earnest as she reached for Clary. "Nyuola!"

Clary blinked in surprise. She turned to Jordaan. "What does it mean?" She asked him. She didn't recognize the language; it was a completely foreign one.

Jordaan frowned. "Not sure, Koningin."

The chant rose, voices uniting as one as they chorused the one word. "Nyuola! Nyuola! Nyuola!" They all chanted, reaching for Clary. Jordaan reached for his sword, eyes wary as they clamored forward. However, Clary held her arm, her eyes never straying from the women.

"No. I don't think they'll hurt me," she said, taking a step towards them, her chest burning from the onset of emotions she was feeling.

They embraced her, hands touching her shoulders, her hair, her neck, her cheeks. They kept chanting the word; Nyuola. She looked around them in awe, smiling as children clung to her skirts, as girls touched her hands, skimming her fingers. She laughed breathlessly, threatening to burst from the emotion that clouded her head.

The curly-haired girl from before was there, eyes wide as Clary looked at her. "Nyuola," she said in a soft voice. "Savior. Mother. Protector," she said in English.

Clary could feel her cheeks redden in pleasure. She gently touched a small child's hair, stroking her curls. "Savior," she whispered, the name like a precious gem, a jewel, to her.

She couldn't believe it.

She laughed out loud again, as the 'Nyuola' was chanted over and over again, until it was all she could hear.

* * *

A girl squealed as Lykaios licked her face, slobbering saliva all over her cheek. Clary smiled as another child grabbed her hand, grinning shyly up at Clary with two missing teeth. Clary had managed to get most of the women jobs in the kitchen or the castle, as well as in the stables along with Simon, who had promised to take care of them. The kitchens had accepted at least a quarter of them; the kindly cook there, an old woman, had gladly taken them in.

Others had left, in search for new homes, new beginnings.

Helen had also needed some more help on her farm, and taken in three of the women, along with the three children. Clary would send over more food and supplies to help support them.

Clary hoped that in time, they would be able to return to their homelands. In time, perhaps they hopefully would.

She told them that they were to report to her if anything happened to them. She was worried about Yiouki, and his threats but forced them down. Small men like him may rule their world, but they would always be taken down.

Now, there was only the quiet, curly-haired girl left, sitting by herself as she looked around her surroundings.

"What's your name?" Clary asked her as the girl folded her hands in her lap.

"Maeia, Your Grace," the girl responded in perfect English. She was very pretty, with light brown skin, long eyelashes and a narrow face. "I come from the Long Islands of Geita."

Clary considered this. "You speak perfect English as well as the native language. How many languages do you speak?"

"Sixteen languages, Your Grace," she said.

"That's very impressive," Clary smiled at her. "Do you also speak Idrisian?"

"Ek is vlot, my Koningin," Maeia said in Idrisian, sounding exactly like a native. "Dit was een van die eerste tale wat ek geleer het."

 _(I am fluent, my queen). (This was one of the first languages I learnt)._

Clary blinked, her mind racing. "Maeia, I have a proposition for you," she said carefully. "Would you like to serve as my adviser and handmaiden? You would have all the freedom in the world, and can leave anytime you want."

Maeia bowed her head. "I would be honored, Koningin."

"You'll have your own room and whatever you need," Clary promised. "I hope you'll be happy here."

"You freed me, Clarissa Morgenstern," Maeia, dark eyes serious. "I'd be more than pleased to serve you."

Clary smiled. "Jordaan, please escort Maeia to her chambers. Give her whatever she needs."

Jordaan nodded stoically. They walked away together, leaving Clary alone in the gardens with Lykaios. It was then that she realized she hadn't thought about Jace all afternoon; the worry and missing him had gone, at least for the time being. She also wondered how he would react to all of this.

She stayed in the gardens for the rest of the day, still disbelieved at the fact that she had freed over thirty women from slavery today.

It felt like a dream. She felt like a completely new person, a changed one.

All in the course of a day.

However, she was missing her husband.

And secretly wishing that he would come home.

* * *

 **BTW:**

 **Jordaan: Jordan**

 **Maeia: Maia**

 **Are you sensing romance? Cause I am.**

 **Don't you love it? Please keep reading and review! I'm so sorry about the lack of Clace, but the next will have lots, I promise.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	17. Chapter 17 (Long Live the King)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 17. Long Live the King**

 **(UPDATED VERSION)**

 **Hi guys! I went on a bit of a splurge this week, typing chapters up like crazy. Three chapters in five days! OMG! Yay, right?**

 **Anyway, this chapter is all about the Clace (and a part where Clary is a motherfucking badass). I'm not too sure about this chapter. Tell me if you love or hate, and I'll change it. I don't really know if I like it that much, but please let me know. Their relationship in this chapter has a completely different dynamic. They're much more intimate, and are much more comfortable with each other. Clary's changed, and Jace has let her in.**

 **I love the last part, where Clary's all confident. I hope you guys all love it too.**

 **Spoilers; next chapter, there will be a death.**

 **There were some questions from a Guest:**

 **1\. Is Clary still learning to fight? Because I don't want her to depend on her wolf or Jace to keep herself safe. Please make her become a good fighter.**

 **As you will see in this chapter, Clary can defend herself pretty well. She'll get more fighting scenes later on in the story.**

 **2\. Do the people of Idris love her? It's clear in this chapter that she gets along with them except the warriors but do the rest of the people love her as queen?**

 **The warriors obey her orders, but they don't really understand or respect her views. The Idrisians don't really know her, and many of them dont trsut foregners. However, there are some who like and respect her. The people will come to love her later on.**

 **3\. Can you please write a chapter where there's a show down between Clary and Kaelie. I really want Clary to show her who's queen.**

 **YASS! There will be one soon, I promise.**

 **Anyway, please read and review; your reviews last time blew me away! Thank you so much, ily all so so much and keep reading!**

 **:)**

* * *

 **Chapter 17.**

 **-Clary-**

Clary's dreams were full of grassy green fields, a golden-haired man and a ink-black sky, ripe full of twinkling stars that blinked like diamonds. She was in a deep sleep, her limbs like silk, her body of nothingness.

She sighed in content, strangled by the soft silk of the sheets.

However, she was woken abruptly by the sudden bang of the door. Still half-asleep, she rolled out of her bed, her knife pulled out in a flash. She grabbed the attacker by the neck, slamming them against the door, her knife pressed to their throat. As her vision adjusted to the dark, she blinked in surprise. Her heart rate sped up, her pulse beating frantically in her chest. "Jace?" She gasped, her knife lowering.

He was here.

Smelling familiar, like pine and smoke and mint.

Looking as handsome as ever, with the same golden eyes and wheat-blonde hair, chiseled jaw and plush lips.

He chuckled in the dark. "Dit ies goed om te sien dat jy nog onthou hoe om jouself te verdedig," he told her in Idrisian, warm hands taking her own.

 _(Its good to see you still remember how to defend yourself)._

Joy filled her veins, elation pounding in her heart; she threw herself into his arms, clutching him close to her. His arms wrapped around her waist, strong and steady always. "You're here," she said stupidly, breathless as she smiled into the side of his neck.

Jace nodded, tucking her head under his chin. "I told you I'd come back," he said, this time in perfect English. He had improved amazingly after speaking with Clary in her native language.

She let go of him, stepping back, her shy smile lighting her entire face up. He grinned boyishly at her.

Home, at last.

However, her victory was short-lived. Jace suddenly stumbled forward, where Clary caught him in her arms. Her heart bolted in surprise; her eyes narrowed in fear. "Jace?" She whispered, hauling him to the bed. "Jace, what's wrong?" His breathing was labored, his eyes slowly drooping shut. Fear, deep and swift, cut through her heart. He was very heavy, and it took every ounce of strength she possessed to drag him onto the bed.

It was then that she noticed the trail of blood that had followed Jace from the door. She frowned, her heart beating frantically in her chest. She lifted his furs, looking for an injury.

Her blood went cold.

There was a massive slash, starting from his mid-thigh, crossing across to end at the top of his knee. It was struck deep, so deep that Clary saw a hint of bone. The wound was spurting blood; it dribbled down his leg, staining the skin. Pus gathered at the scar; Clary winced as she noticed the festering flesh that gathered there.

Once the smell hit Clary, she gagged. It was awful, like the smell of raw meat.

Her hand went to rest on Jace's forehead; he was sweating profusely, his skin burning up. He groaned, clutching at her hand. "Oh God," Clary hissed. "Why didn't you go straight to the infirmary?"

His eyes were struggling to stay open, only the whites of his eyes visible. Clary rushed to the door, stepping out into the hallway. She spotted a handmaiden, and called her over. "Geou Alec en Jordaan na die koning se kamer. Nou," she ordered, her thoughts running wild.

 _(Bring Alec and Jordaan to the King's room. Now)._

The girl nodded, rushing away. Clary returned to Jace's side, fussing around him as she adjusted the quilts and furs. There was a knock on the door; Clary answered in a hurry. It was Alec and Jordaan, both looking exhausted as they entered. "It's late," Alec scowled. "What is it?"

"The Koning," Clary responded, gesturing towards Jace.

Alec's eyes went wide. "He's back?"

"He's injured," Clary explained fearfully. "He has a massive scar on his leg, and he's bleeding-" She didn't need to say anything else, as Alec strode over to his friend's side. Jordaan stayed at Clary's side, ever the loyal warrior.

Clary turned to him. "Send for Magnus Bane, the warlock," she instructed. "Malachi will know how to reach him."

Jordaan nodded.

Clry returned to Jace's side, feeling his forehead again. "He's burning up," she said worriedly, smoothing his blonde curls back. She turned to Alec, who was watching her with cool eyes and an unreadable expression. "Do you know what happened to him?" She asked.

Alec shook his head. "I didn't even know he was back. He must have gone through the backdoor." Clary felt his eyes on her. "To see you."

Clary didn't answer, but instead slid a pillow under Jace's head. "Magnus will be able to heal him," she said decidedly, as if there were no other option. "He'll be here soon."

They waited in bated silence, never talking to each other. Clary was near tears, trying best to dull Jace's pain. She cooled his forehead with a damp cloth, gave him some Milk of the Poppy, buried him in sheets. Now, she sat next to him, his warm hand clutched in her cold one. She was dozing lightly, her eyes heavy, but she was fiercely determined to stay awake.

Now, she watched Alec as he gazed down at Jace, his eyes telling their own story.

She had seen that look before.

When her father would speak of her mother.

When Bryta reminisced of her first sweetheart.

The butcher's boy fascination with Clary.

Then it hit her.

"You love him," she suddenly blurted out, her mouth running away with her thoughts.

It all made sense; how Alec would look at her with all the hate and loathing in the world, the longing glances as well as the constant lingering.

He was in love with Clary's husband.

And she wanted to take it back as soon as she said it.

Alec slowly turned to look at her, ice-blue eyes suddenly turning into the frost of the winter. He looked downright terrifying, with a menacing scowl and narrowed eyes that were coated in venom. "You ever tell anyone," he growled in a voice that sent chills down her spine. "And I'll kill you." He didn't even try to deny it.

There was no hidden agenda behind his voice; only a promise, a threat that he would carry out.

She looked at him carefully. "You must hate me," she said, looking at him with a frown.

A foreign princess, married to the man that he loved. Alec's eyes, ice-blue and hard, pierced her soul. "I do."

They lapsed into a silence after that.

Clary rested her head onto the bed, unable to look at Alec anymore. Her hand remained loosely clasped with Jace's; she suddenly wanted nothing more to pull it away. She eventually dozed off, sleep consuming her thoughts. She dreamed of nothing.

* * *

It was morning when she next woke, blinking the sleep from her eyes. The morning sun shone through the window, a slight breeze drafting in through the crack. Clary stretched, rubbing at her eyes with bruising force. Jace was sleeping peacefully beside her, blonde hair darkened with sweat, his breathing gentle as his chest fell and rose in a steady rhythm. Alec was sleeping in the corner, his arms crossed across his chest. Even in sleep, his expression was guarded.

Clary stood, rolling her head to the side. She checked Jace's forehead again; he was still burning up. She frowned, letting her hand linger there.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Clary called, inviting them in. The door opened to reveal a glittering Magnus Bane, clad in bright colors and shiny metallic boots. Jordaan was standing behind him, arms crossed behind his back. "Koningin, I present Magnus Bane-" he started but Magnus cut him off.

"She knows who I am. Leave us, gorgeous. We'll be fine," Magnus scolded him, patting his cheek.

Jordaan cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable.

"It's fine," Clary reassured him. "You're dismissed, _soldaat_."

Magnus swept into the room; Alec was awake, standing off to the side with a stone-cold look on his face. The warlock went to Jace, examining him with green, cat-eyes. "The old man outside said he was wounded. Where is it?" He asked, pulling up his case.

"On his leg," Clary responded, her hand clutching at the sheets. "Starting at mid-thigh, ending just above his knee."

He pulled back the covers, observing the wound. "Oh, my," the warlock looked surprised, his eyebrows furrowing together.

Clary felt alarm rise in her chest. "What?" She asked desperately.

Magnus frowned. "It doesn't look good" he murmured. "The wound is already festering; it's probably infected by now. But I can heal him," he declared. Clary and Alec sighed in relief. "But I'll need herbs and plants for a poultice. And he'll need bed rest for at least two weeks."

"We'll get you whatever you need," Clary promised. "Thank you, Magnus. For everything."

He smiled brilliantly, flashing her a set of white teeth. "Sure, darling."

Alec cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Koningin, you should get back to the throne room. You have a kingdom to rule," he informed her.

She looked to her husband. "But...I need to take care of him. He's injured," she said, torn between her responsibility to the kingdom and the need to nurse Jace back to health.

Alec's eyes softened, but only slightly. "I'll be here the whole time, as will Magnus. But, don't tell anyone that the Koning's injured; the Idrisians respect strength, and a weak king is a weak kingdom. The Koning needs you to lead the kingdom. Do what queens do. Rule," he said with all of the wisdom of an old man. Something like steel hardened inside her; a knife gathering in the pit of her stomach. She nodded firmly.

She turned to Magnus, thunder in her eyes, chaos in her bones, lightning in her soul. "Don't let him die," she ordered him, before walking out, Jordaan behind her.

* * *

The throne was uncomfortable; yet, it felt like she was meant to sit in it. She was dressed in a dress of a previous Koningin's, her eyes covered in black war paint, her hair done into intricate braids. Jordaan and Maeia sat by her side, Lykaios at her feet. Malachi sat off in the corner, shuffling with herbs and beads as he attempted to convey the future through their patterns. She turned to the guard on the left. "Stuur in die eerste drie," she instructed them.

 _(Send in the first three)._

The guards brought in the villagers who had requested an audience with the Koning. They were two men and the third a woman.

It was Clary's first time, ever, doing this, but she was ready and determined.

Nervous, but determined.

The man came forward first, a middle-age with a twitch in his eye and grey hair. He wore the clothes of a commoner and the scowl of an scorned man. He eyed her up and down with a furtive look in his beady black eyes. Clary disliked him instantly but managed to maintain an even look.

"Ek is hier om met die Koningin te praat, nie sy hoer nie," he spat to the guard, twitching his nose.

 _(I am here to talk with the Koningin, not his whore)._

There was an angry stir amongst the guards; Jordaan glared at the man, his hand on his sword. "Moet ek sy tong sny, koningin?"

 _(Should I cut off his tongue, my Queen?)_

Clary held up her hand, eyes narrowed. "Nie nodig nie, Jordaan. Maar hy moet weet om sy mond te kyk," she said through gritted teeth, with the venom of a snake.

 _(Not necessary, Jordaan. But he should know to watch his mouth)._

She turned her attention back to the man, who was purple-faced and twitching in anger. "Sê nou vir my watter besigheid jy met my wil bespreek," she asked him, struggling to maintain her temper. She had known men like this her whole life; small, arrogant men who thought they held the world in their palm.

 _(Now, tell me what business you wish to discuss with me)._

The man shook his head in disgust. "Ek het niks wat ek met 'n vreemde slet wil bespreek nie," he hissed, spitting at the ground.

 _(I have nothing to discuss with a foreigner slut)._

Clary raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "Verlaat dan," she said coldly, her voice as sharp as ice. "En moenie waag om te dink dat jy terug kan kom nie." She turned to the guard to her right. "Hueli, begelei hom asseblief."

 _(Then leave. And don't you dare think that you can come back. Hueli, escort him out please)._

The guard nodded, practically dragging the man out of the room.

Clary glared after him, hate stirring in his veins.

"Koningin, moet ek hom nader, leer hom riesek?" Jordaan asked her, scowling as his brown eyes pinned down the man.

 _(My queen, should I go after him, show him some respect?)_

Clary should his head. "No, Jordaan. His time will come later."

Jordaan nodded respectfully, and Clary was then sure that she had done right by choosing him for the role of her _soldaat._

The man and woman came forward, looking nervous and they bowed in respect. They were middle-aged; tired eyes, streaks of grey, plump around the waist. She smiled softly at them, to try ease their nerves.

The man came forward. "My koningin, my vrou en ek woon op die plaas wat op die buitewyke van Idris lê. Ons is onlangs aangeval deur raiders, en hulle het byna alles van ons gesteel," he explained, his eyes pleading.

 _(My queen, my wife and I live on the farm that lay on the outer villages of Idris. We were recently attacked by raiders, and they stole almost everything from us)._

The woman gripped at her husband's hand, almost in tears. "Hulle het ons oes, koningin, vernietig. Hulle het ons seun doodgemaak en al ons kosbare items geneem," she cried; her husband patted her comfortingly on the back.

 _(They destroyed our crops, my queen. They killed our boy, and took all of our valuables)._

Clary frowned, feeling helplessness grasp her. However, she squared her shoulders, taking control. "Ek is jammer vir jou verlies. Jou pyn is gehoor. Ek sweer om alles in my vermoë te doen om jou te help om jou plaas te herstel," she said, attempting at a comforting smile.

 _(I'm so sorry for your loss. Your pain has been heard. I swear to do everything in my power to help you restore your farm)._

She gestured Jordaan over. "Vervang al hul gesteelde besittings en gee hulle 'n maand se waarde van kos totdat hulle hul gewasse kan hergroei. Stuur drie stabiele seuns om hulle te help, sowel as drie sterk perde," she told him.

 _(Replace all of their stolen possessions and give them a month's worth of food until they are able to regrow their crops. Send three stable boys to help them, as well as three strong horses)._

He nodded his head. "Natuurlik, my koningin." He walked off, two other warriors in tow.

 _(Of course, my queen)._

The woman and man spouted their thanks, wiping their tears. "Dankie, my koningin!" The woman bowed, sniffling.

 _(Thank you, my queen!)_

"'N duisend dankie! Jy is so goed soos jy wys is!" The man blubbered.

 _(A thousand thanks! You are as kind as you are wise)._

Clary smiled, chest puffed out in pleasure. "As jy ooit iets nodig het, kom net terug. U is welkom hier enige tyd," she said softly, crossing her hands in her lap.

 _(If you ever need anything, just come back. You're welcome here anytime)._

The married couple left, smiling as they were escorted out of the castle. After dealing with many more cases, most about rivaling neighbors and stolen cattle, Clary felt exhausted. She rubbed at her temples, gritting her teeth. "Send the last one in," she ordered. "Then we'll be done."

The guard nodded. The warriors dragged in a man, who was dressed in nothing more than dirty rags. He was thrown at Clary's feet, where he looked up at her with pleading blue eyes. Most of his face was covered with a wild, overgrown beard, the dark brown of it struck with silver.

He spoke in a foreign tongue, one that sounded like nothing she had ever heard. Clary called Maeia over; she stood, going to Clary's side.

"Do you understand this man?" Clary asked her. The man watched the exchange with solemn eyes.

Maeia nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. He speaks a language from one of the Northern Isles," she informed Clary. "He says that he was convicted from his kingdom and has been on the run ever since."

"Ask him why he was convicted," Clary said suspiciously, eyes never straying from the strange man.

Maeia spoke in the man's language, perfectly, as Clary had expected. He responded, his response lengthy, his words thick with his strong accent. "The man says that he was banished for robbing his kingdom's brothels," Maeia said.

"Ask him why he's here."

Maeia listened to the man with rapt attention. "He says that he seeks a bed for the night, a strong steed and safe passage through to the Opal Islands," she translated.

"Why should I let a thief into my kingdom?" Clary's eyebrows furrowed.

"He says that he is able to pay for the night and the horse."

"With the wealth he stole," Clary scowled, eyes flashing.

Maeia frowned, her head titling in confusion. "No, not in coins, he says. He commands a massive army and says he will come to our call, only once, should we ever need it." This took Clary by surprise. She carefully examined the man, leaning forward in her throne.

"How do I know he's telling the truth?" Clary asked, eyes trained on the man, who remained on his knees.

"He swears it on his life, Your Grace. He says he owes you, if you do him this favor," Maeia translated.

Clary paused, contemplating his request. "What do you think, Maeia?"

Her handmaiden blinked. "Your Grace?"

"Your my advisor, Maeia. I want your opinion. What do you think?" Clary repeated again. "Should I trust this man? Let him stay in Idris?"

Maeia looked thoughtful. "He has nothing to lose, Your Grace. Perhaps he is telling the truth. There is a huge benefit if you do; an army would be helpful against any attacks."

Clary returned her gaze to the man. "Very well. I'll give him a bed for the night and a stallion for the day. Ask him this; how will I call for his army, should Idris ever need it?"

Maeia asked him the question; the man pulled out something from his pocket. It was a gold ring, with a glass sphere encased within it. He slowly began to descend the stairs; Jordaan and the other warriors pulled out their swords, yelling harshly at the man to back off. Clary shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "Let him pass."

He eventually reached her; from the close distance, Clary could make out more distinct features of his face. The blue of his eyes were mismatched from the other, one milky pale, the other a dark ocean blue. His face, the parts that weren't covered by his bushy beard, were riddled with scars and old wounds. He wasn't a particularly big or tall man, but was rather small in comparison to the impressive stance of the warriors around her.

He offered her the object. He spoke to Maeia in his language, his voice rough and coarse.

"He says that to call on his army, you have to climb the highest mountain in Idris, when the sun is at it's highest, and face it directly South," Maeia parroted.

Clary took the golden object, hesitant. "Very well. Nut, tell him that if even an apple is missing from the kitchens, he'll be thrown out," she warned him.

Maeia said her words.

The man nodded in understanding. "Show him to his room. He can stay in the lower rooms of the castle. He gets one meal, but then he leaves in the morning."

He was then escorted from the room; Clary watched him leave with baleful eyes. "I hope I didn't make a mistake," she muttered. "We're done for the night," she told the guards, standing up, a fierce headache eating away at her mind.

They left, dismissed.

* * *

Jace's wound was slowly healing; very well, Clary thought, for the due course of a week. He slept for most of the time, but experienced terrible fits that sent him into a cold sweat. Magnus said it was the side-effects of the fever, and there was nothing Clary could do but hold his hand and try and get him through the worst of it. She felt helpless as he groaned in his sleep, thrashing around in his bed as she tried to soothe him.

"He'll get better," Magnus told her as he mashed up the herbs. "It'll take time."

Clary nodded, her lips pursed.

Jace's wound was cleaned of infection, his leg wrapped in a gauze. Malachi had insisted that he perform a spiritual cleansing on the wound to help prevent any 'bad spirits' from entering the wound. Magnus had rolled his eyes at the claim; him and Malachi often disagreed on how to heal the Koning, due to their clashing views on traditional and modern medicine.

Now, Clary was helping Jace into the tub, his arm hoisted around her shoulder. He was completely naked, but Clary found that she didn't care much at all. He was complaining , protesting at being treated like a child. "I don't need your help," he grunted as sweat gathered at his temples. "I can do this by myself-"

"Stop," Clary snapped. "Your injured. There's nothing wrong with needing help once in a while."

He went quiet. "Fine," he scowled.

She helped him limp over to the tub; he crawled in, sighing in relief as the hot water surrounded his body. Clary noticed that he didn't have a inch of fat on his body; he was simply pure, lean muscle. His eyes were closed, his head titled back. Drops of water dripped down his bare chest, bronzed skin gleaming.

She cleared her throat, red flushing her cheeks.

"Hoekom kom jy nie saam met my in nie?" Jace's voice was low and husky, his eyes remaining closed.

 _(Why don't you come in with me?)_

Clary's eyes widened. "Ek gaan goed," she told him, eyes cautious.

 _(I'm fine)._

He cracked an eye open. "You scared?" He teased her, flexing his muscles. Clary glared at him. Something like a competitive spark rose inside her, flickering until it was ignited, spreading through her body. To both Clary and Jace's suprise, she started to shrug off her clothes until she was completely nude. She stood, fearless, in front of him, the cool air hardening her nipples. Her scars, the reminders of her past, were on full display. Jace watched her with darkened eyes, a dark, possessive look on his face. His eyes never left her's as she slipped into the tub, embracing the hot water as it washed around her body.

Jace stared at her, his muscles tense. She looked boldly at him. "Ek is nie bang," she told him.

 _(I am not afraid)._

He nodded slowly.

Clary was glad that the water covered her breasts; she drew up her legs, wrapping her arms around them. The tub was just big enough so that the two of them fit perfectly, but Clary felt Jace's skin brush against her's every few seconds.

That was more than enough to send tingles up her spine.

She didn't understand what the situation was between them. She didn't understand her feelings; only that they were powerful, and made her feel light-headed and nauseous.

"Jace?" She asked him, watching steam rise from the hot water.

"Hmm?" He murmured.

"What happened to your leg?" Her eyes met his, a perfect clash of green and gold. Both she and Alec had tried to get him to talk about what had happened to him. He had refused to, but she was still hoping to coax the answer out from him.

He was silent for a moment, eyebrows furrowed. He didn't seem to know what to say, for once. "I was riding back to Idris with three of my warriors. We had to stay behind because one of my _vloedriders_ was injured. On the way back, there was an attack by the raiders on the path; the warriors accompanying me were killed," Jace's voice was hoarse, his eyes pained. "I managed to get away, but not before one of them caught me in the leg. I rode back here and managed to get back into the castle without being noticed."

Clary's voice was hushed. "Why didn't you go straight to the infirmary?"

Jace's eyes cut through her like a knife. "Iemand het op my gewag," he told her in Idrisian.

 _(Someone was waiting for me)._

Clary smiled at him faintly.

Her heart skipped a beat, frantic as his golden eyes devoured her own. She felt light-headed.

But for a slight second, she saw the pain in his eyes.

"It wasn't your fault that those warriors died," Clary told him gently. "They were killed by raiders, protecting you; the highest honor there is."

Jace bowed his head, suddenly looking much younger. "No. My fault. All my fault."

Clary shook her head, moving forward so that she was rested between his legs, their chests almost touching. She grabbed the nape of his neck with her hand, forcing him to look at her. "Your warriors would gladly give their own lives to save you. You have to be that sort of Koning; one that is strong and worthy enough to look into the eyes of his warriors and say 'go die for me," Clary said fiercely to him, gripping his neck harder. "And one day, we'll kill those raiders for all they've done. Bloed sal bloed hê. Blood will have blood."

His hands were gripping her waist, his eyes unreadable. "Daar is daardie vuur, cstrisi," he murmured, tracing shapes onto her skin.

 _(There's that fire, cstrisi)._

Clary gripped his shoulders, her breathing shallow as his fingers brushed up and down her hips, tenderly tracing her scars. Her forehead rested against his, their noses brushing against each other. His breathing as shallow as Clary used her thumb to stroke the side of his cheek.

Clary's eyes were half-closed just as his lips lightly skimmed hers, making her feel like she was flying.

Their hearts beat, as one, pounding as he gripped her hips with bruising pressure, pressing his lips even harder against hers.

She gasped into her mouth as she felt his throbbing cock against her leg.

But she just kissed him harder.

It was true.

She wasn't afraid.

Not anymore.

And she swore to herself then and there, with her breathing as one with Jace's, his hands in her hair, his lips on hers, that Jonathon would never hold her back anymore.

He didn't own her.

And he never would again.

* * *

 **So...yeah.**

 **Did you like or not?**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	18. Chapter 18 (A Morgenstern's Justice)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 18. A Morgenstern's Justice**

 **Hi guys! Sorry for such the long wait, I know it's been a while. But I'm here now, and I have a really long chapter! I hope you like, I worked so hard on it for you guys. And oh my god, the reviews are amazing! Thank you so much for your support.**

 **Now, there's a lemon in this chapter. It may not be appropriate for younger viewers, but remember; it's rated M for a reason. I'm not the best at writing lemons, so don't judge too harshly.**

 **The next chapter...I don't think you'll like it too much. There's a massive shock factor, and I can practically feel the hate from you guys, but until next chapter.**

 **Please enjoy, and keep reading and reviewing!**

 **Ily guys xx**

* * *

 **Chapter 18.**

 **-Clary-**

Callisto whined, neighing as she reared her head, pulling frantically at her reins. Clary tried to calm her by stroking her mane, her brow furrowed with concern. Clary muttered soothing words, scratching in between Callisto's ears.

However, she refused to be calmed as she huffed, trotting around in circles. Lykaios avoided her rampaging hooves, growling viciously as he narrowly dodged her feet. "What's wrong with her?" Clary asked Simon, who was riding alongside her. "She's never like this."

Callisto was usually a calm mare, and never acted out; Clary was worried about her strange behavior.

Before Simon could answer, Clary's handmaiden Iorei, perked up. "We are near grave site, Koningin. Here was where brave men were slaughtered by cowards in night. They were cruel men in iron suits who lived in stone houses and built tall towers. Brave Idrisian men were killed in massacre. They say spirits still here, waiting for the white devils of the South to come back," she explained, dark brown eyes solemn.

Clary stared off into the distance, eyes narrowed. "This is where Alicante soldiers slaughtered hundreds of Idrisians in the Great Murder," she murmured softly, remembering the story that Jonathon had told her, so many nights ago.

He had snuck into her room, when she was only a young girl of seven, to whisper the story into her ear while he twisted her wrist, making her scream into her pillow.

She had had nightmares for weeks after, images of men cutting off heads, guts being ripped out of other people's bodies, blood squirting from massive wounds.

Terrified of the shadows, she was reduced to sneaking off to slip into bed with Bryta, who laughed at her fears yet comforted all the same.

The land around her was grassy and dry, not a lick of water around. Mountains ranged high and low here, with sloping hills that carried dirt and wind through the breeze. The trees here looked half-starved, with drooping branches and dead leaves that gathered around the trunk, which crunched under their feet.

Yet there was a slight chill in the air, despite the hot sun that shifted shadows that stretched out from under the splintering trees.

Clary and her Koning, along with his _jhelseia_ , were currently traveling to the sacred temple of the Idrisians. They were also visiting the nearby village, one that had a thriving marketplace, huts and full of people. It was a tradition for the Koning and his queen to visit the old temple to honor their gods.

Simon nodded. "Animals have amazing intuition, and it is said that they are able to sense death," he said to her, reining in his own horse.

Iorei nodded. "It is known, Koningin," she agreed unanimously. Her own horse, a gentle mare with brown and white spots, looked nervous as she tossed her mane.

Clary stroked Callisto's hair, trying to calm her. "How much longer until we're there?" She asked Iorei, feeling impatient. The air was...chilling, to say the least. She wasn't fond of the impending sense of dread that the land gave off.

Iorei gave her a look of understanding. "Soon, my Koningin. Before the sun sets into earth. Then, the lords of the temple will come forward to honor the new Koningin," she promised Clary.

Clary frowned a little, but nodded all the same. She disliked the impending sense of dread that the land gave off, the air around her ominous and threatening. Callisto seemed to agree with her, and neighed nervously as she skittered around in the grass, kicking up dirt.

She whistled for Lykaios, who was off stalking birds. His ears perked up, and he ran forward back to her side. Lykaios had only grown bigger in the past few weeks, a hulking beast with massive fangs and glowing blue eyes. He was almost as tall as Clary, barely brushing her shoulder.

Clary's eyes searched for her lord husband, but he was nowhere to be found. Jace was most likely at the front of the herd, his _vloedriders_ surrounding him. Jordaan rode behind her, a stoic look on his face, while Maeia followed, dressed in new clothes of tough leather and furs.

Maeia had settled in well, and had become one of Clary's closest friends and most trusted advisor.

They had been riding for almost two days now. Clary's thighs were blistered and sore, bleeding from the unfamiliar sensation of riding. None of the others seemed to mind, but Clary knew why; the Idrisians were originally horse riders, traveling through the day until the night claimed them. They were born to ride, to mount horses and wander the roads as a hoard.

The Morgensterns, however, were not. They built castles and conquered lands and made tall towers. They were not fit for the long days on the saddles. Clary now regretted rejecting several riding lessons as a child, and wished she wasn't so incompetent on a horse.

Clary's body was caked in perspiration, and her back felt stiff and her body ached with pain. She was tired, so tired that her eyes drooped and she battled to keep her eyes open.

But, she gritted her teeth and rode on anyways. She would grow to love her saddle, she told herself, to mount her horse with eagerness for the long days to come. Simon sent her a look of sympathy. "It gets better, Koningin. The pain will pass," he said kindly, but it was little comfort to Clary.

She nodded anyways, despite the sweat that clouded her eyes.

Iorei looked at her with solemn eyes. "The Koningin of Idris is born for the saddle," she told Clary with conviction. "As the bird for the sky, as a fish for the sea."

Lykaios rubbed against Clary's leg, claiming her attention once again. Clary smiled, stroking the top of Lykaios' head. "Soon, my pup," she told him. "We'll be there soon."

* * *

The room was thick with the smell of mulled wine and laughter. Clary sat off to the side with her handmaidens, giggling as they talked and gossiped among themselves. Lykaios was off hunting in the woods, but Clary wasn't concerned; there wasn't much that was bigger than a Druid wolf. Jace and his men were gathered together in a mess of big, strong men who drank and eyed the pretty girls. The air was filled with sweet-smelling smoke, a blazing fire warming the room.

They were currently dining in a large room, one that they reserved for the Idrisian King; the common people were setting up huts for the night, feeding and watering their horses while they did so. Clary and Jace had visited the sacred temple earlier in the afternoon, where they wandered around the brick halls, admiring the massive statues of the Idrisian Gods.

There was massive plates of food, delicious steaks and the finest bread Clary had ever tasted. It was sweet, and melted on Clary's tongue.

Women were dancing in the center of the room, hips swaying to the music as striped men banged on wooden drums and rang sweet-sounding bells. Clary smiled as Iorei recounted a story about her childhood; she sipped her wine, disliking the bitter taste but enjoying the burn of it.

She felt happy. Music in her ears, good food in her stomach, friends gathered around her.

Nothing could ruin it.

Suddenly, there was a loud roar that emitted from outside the hut. Clary's head swiveled around, heart loud in her chest. Jace looked up from his goblet, eyes darkened. A massive beast of a man stumbled in, malice apparent in his dark eyes.

It was Yiouki.

The man she had claimed the women slaves from.

And he did not look happy. Drunk, and stinking off it too, with slurred movements and a twisted smirk on his face. He stumbled towards Clary; it was then that she noticed the sharp gleam of his sword by his side.

Clary's blood ran cold.

Weapons weren't allowed in the village. It was sacred ground, and it was ultimately treason to draw even a knife in the city.

The music had died, and everyone was holding their breath in bated silence. Eyes followed the man, wary and terrified of his next movements. Jace watched him with a hard face, muscles tense.

He stopped just before her, a cruel smirk hidden beneath his sneer. Clary watched him with a glare, staring out from under her eyelashes.

"Kyk, du vroers. 'N huitelandse hoer," he spat, causing Clary to flinch.

 _(Look, my brothers. A foreign whore)._

"Yiouki, verlaat. Dit hoef nie in bloed te eindig nie," Jace called over to him, on his feet, teeth gritted.

 _(Yiouki, leave. This doesn't have to end in blood)._

Clary watched Yiouki snort, white teeth gleaming like knives. He drew out his sword; it shone in the fire light like a jewel. Clary's heartbeat quickened as he pointed straight at her stomach. Iorei gasped, shoving herself in front of Clary, but she sent a sharp glance at another handmaiden who grabbed Iorei and held her away from the bite of Yiouki's sword.

He pushed his blade until the edge was flush with Clary's stomach. Pain flared as it bit into the soft of her skin. Clary swallowed, refusing to leave his gaze.

"Ek sal wed dat jy 'n baba un jou baarmoeder het," he told her, sneering as he did so. "'N Geskenk vir my koningin. Ek sal die baba self uitsny en aan jou gee."

 _(I will bet that you have a babe in your womb). (I will cut the baby out myself and give it to you. A gift for my queen)._

Clary wasn't pregnant, in fact, she was still a virgin, but in the moment of pure, blind panic, her heart nearly gave out for her phantom baby.

There's no baby, she told herself. There's no baby.

The entire building was silent; Clary heard a dull ringing noise in her ears. Jace watched on, face unreadable, but there was a dark fury on his face. His entire body was clenched, eyes narrowed in rage.

No one had a weapon.

Every person was unarmed, every man except the one who was holding a sword to Clary's stomach.

Yiouki smiled drunkenly, pushing his sword deeper into Clary's stomach. She refused to wince as she felt blood, hot and wet, drip down her stomach.

"Jy het geneem wat regmatig myne was. Jy is niks, klein slet. Jy is nie my koningin nie, en jy sal nooit wees nie. Maar weet jy wat jy is? 'N Buitelandse hoer, wat haar bene sal versprei vir enige man wat haar 'n muntstuk aanbied," Yiouki hissed, red-hot anger blazing in his eyes.

 _(You took what was rightfully mine. You're nothing, little slut. You are not my queen, and you will never be. But do you know what you are? A foreign whore, who'll spread her legs for any man who offers her a coin)._

Clary scowled at him, fury burning chaos in her veins. Rage roared viciously in her ears.

Jace had moved to the near center of the room, with an elegance that reminded Clary of a panther. "Yiouki, jy kan nou wegloop. Gee jou swaard oor, en ek sal jou 'n perd gee om weg te ry na die wit stede in die weste. Maar beseer my vrou, en ek sal jou keel gleed," he said in a deadly calm voice, lined with venom.

 _(Yiouki, you can walk away now. Surrender your sword, and I will give you a horse to ride away to the White Cities in the West. But, injure my wife, and I'll slit your throat)._

Yiouki titled his head, eyes cruel and hard in the firelight. He considered Jace, mouth twisting in deep thought. Clary watched him in bated breath, not daring to move.

He drew his sword away, grinning like a mad-man. He hung his hands up in the air, laughing. "Baie goed, du _koning_ ," he said mockingly. "Jou hoer sal goed wees."

 _(Very well, my king. Your whore will be fine)._

He chuckled, apprasing Clary's body. "Sy is 'n mooi dingetjie. Ek moet haar saam met my neem. 'N Groot mond vir 'n haan, ek is seker. Jy sal weet, wil jy nie?" He turned to Jace, who's fists were clenched.

 _(She's a pretty little thing. I should take her with me. A great mouth for a cock, I'm sure. You'd know, wouldn't you?)_

Thre air was thick with tension, and Jace's anger, Clary's fury, everyone's fear.

Clary breathed a sigh of relief as Yiouki took another step away. Jace wandered over to her; relief flooded her body. He placed a strong hand on her stomach, using his thumb to stroke her skin, fingers ghosting over her wound. She grabbed his hand, twining her fingers with his own, eyes never leaving Yiouki.

Clary could feel Jace's eyes on her as the warmth of his body surrounded her. He looked off to the side, his expression unreadable. "Neem hom," he ordered roughly.

 _(Take him)._

Two of Jace's _vloedriders_ flashed forward like lightning, grabbing Yiouki's arms. He let out a shriek of surprise as they broke his sword arm, forcing him on his knees. He howled, twisting and writhing but it was no use.

Clary watched him, a cold look on her face, her lord husband's hand warm and reassuring on her stomach.

They bound him with rope until he was completely helpless. The rest of the room hissed at him, snarling insults as they hauled him to his feet, pushing him towards the door. Clary let out a shaky breath, her pulse slowing in her chest. She took a step forward, following the two _vloedriders_ and Yiouki. The rest of the room watched her as she stormed through the door, feeling like she was watching the scene from far, far away.

It was cold outside, near freezing, but Clary didn't feel it. The sky bled black; scatters of stars were fed across the horizon. Clary took small steps forward, her eyes never leaving Yiouki. He was streaked with blood, his right arm twisted at the wrong angle.

Jace was just behind her, body almost flush with hers. The vloedrider on the right held Yiouki's sword and put the blade at his throat, but Jace shook his head. "Nee. Haar doid," he told them, hand raised.

 _(No. Her kill)._

They nodded respectfully, stepping away.

Clary looked at Jace, frowning a little. He nodded at her, eyes full of belief, fierce and strong.

Something inside her soared.

She touched his hand, briefly, before taking two more steps forward. Yiouki looked up at her helplessly, his right eye swollen, his mouth dripping blood. It was almost ironic that just a few minutes ago, they were in reverse situations; Clary, hapless, with his sword at her stomach.

"Du Koningin," he begged, his voice breaking. "Genade. Ek is jou vegter, vir ewig en altyd."

 _(Mercy. I am your warrior, forever and always)._

Clary raised an eyebrow, taking another deliberate step forward. "Jy is niks, lafhartige verraaier nie," she echoed his words from before. " Jy is nie my vegter nie, en jy sal nooit wees nie. Maar weet jy wat jy is?" She leaned down to meet his eyes, cold and unforgiving.

 _(You're nothing, cowardly traitor. You are not my warrior, and you will never be. But do you know what you are?)_

His eyes were wide with fear.

A smile graced her lips. "'N Doie niae," she whispered.

 _(A dead man)._

He froze, trying to squirm away but it was useless. His fate was sealed the moment he drew his sword. He whimpered, shaking his head in protest.

There was a sudden growl that emitted from the forest, making Yiouki's whimpers disappear in the wind. Clary smiled coldly down at him, her red curls blowing around her face.

Lykaios padded forward, head bent, eyes glowing in the harsh moonlight. He was snarling, sharp teeth bared as he trod forward. His muzzle was bright red from his recent kill, and licked his mouth.

Yiouki started to shake, trying to scramble to his feet, but Clary picked up the blade and struck him across the leg in a blinding motion, forcing him to fall onto his knees. He was in tears now, frantically shaking his head. He was stuttering out apologies, whispering prayers to the gods.

But no god could save him now.

Lykaios stopped just before the man, a massive beast with blood that dripped from his muzzle.

Yiouki looked at her again, a silent plea in his eyes.

But she stared resolutely back at him, showing no remorse. He had threatened, raped, murdered and was prepared to kill a babe in her womb.

And in a world as cruel as this, Clary had learnt to show no sympathy.

"Doidmaak," she told Lykaios in a flat voice.

 _(Kill)._

He leapt forward, teeth glimmering, mouth snapped open; a slash of fangs and blood. Yiouki screamed, a bone-chilling sound that made Clary's hair and on end. Lykaios bit down on his shoulder, mauling him as Yiouki screamed and cried and pleaded for his life. A slash of claws and howls and savage barks, and it was all over soon enough.

Clary watched on, devoid of any emotions.

Thoughts and voices whirled through her head, but only one question was clear.

When had she become her brother?

* * *

Clary was laying on her back, lost in her own thoughts. Jace was applying a sweet-smelling herb to her wound, slender fingers working slowly around the cut. He hadn't said much to her since Yiouki's death, only that she needed to lay down so he could heal her. She wondered what he was thinking, and not for the first time, wished she could hear his thoughts.

Clary was dressed in a slinky, silk nightgown that barely covered anything. Jace only wore his underclothes, exposing his taunt muscles and hard abdomen.

She was bought back to earth when Jace's hands grazed the side of her hips, rough calloused fingers hot on her skin. She looked up, smiling faintly at him.

"Os jy toed?" She asked him, touching his cheek.

 _(Are you alright, my mou sueni?)_

He closed his eyes, leaning into the palm of her hand. "I'm fine, cstrisi. Just tired," he said to her. Indeed, he looked exhausted, with the tell-tale signs of fatigue under his eyes, th ghosting of a light stubble on his jaw. She used her thumb to stroke his cheek.

"I mean about Yiouki," she told him; his eyes wandered to her, unseeing. "You knew him as a boy."

Jace nodded absent-mindlessly, fingers moving unthinkingly along her waist, leaving a trail of fire on her skin. "He taught me to shoot. He was my father's friend; they fought together, and Yiouki was one of the last to see my father alive. He promised to take care of me." His voice took on a much harder tone. "And now he's dead."

Clary said nothing, but sat up, facing Jace.

"But he deserved it. For hurting you," he scowled fiercely, hand resting over her stomach. "He deserved that and much worse."

"I'm perfectly fine," she reminded him gently, squeezing his hand.

He shot her a look. "But what if you what hadn't been? If he had pushed his sword just an inch deeper-" he started, but Clary cut him off by pulling him towards her, cupping his face. She tilted her head so she pressed her lips to his, feeling a rush of boldness rush through her. His mouth, warm and hard, was on her's; he softened, arms going around her waist, familiar and reassuring. She leaned back into the bed, arms looping around his neck as she pulled him with her.

His body was hard and lean against her's; she felt like flying as he kissed along her jaw, propped up on his elbows to avoid crushing her under his body weight. Her fingers tangled in his hair, loving the silky-soft texture.

He groaned, low in his throat, as Clary tugged on his curls hesitantly. He kissed her more fiercely, like he was going to hell for it. His tongue traced the top of her lip, heating Clary right down to her core.

The feeling, of desire and lust and pure, simple animalistic instinct, was new to Clary. But Jace, The Barbarian Lord, Koning of Idris, the boy who made her feel so many things at once, the man who protected her with his life, who was so beautiful he made Clary's heart hurt, brought them out in a way that no one ever had.

Clary arched her back, gasping as he bit down gently on her lip. She locked her ankles around his back, drawing him in even more.

She felt him, hard and throbbing, against her core and she grasped the nape of his neck and kissed him harder. She traced the curve of his muscles, grasping his rigid forearms in a fevered rush between her legs.

She whispered his name like a prayer as he brushed her neck with his lips.

"Clary..." he groaned, rocking his hips forward. She gripped his hair even tighter, gritting her teeth, panting slightly. "Laat ek jou wys hoe goed jy kan voel."

 _(Let me show you how good you can feel)._

She froze, drawing back. He watched her with desire, black and burning, in his eyes. He was dominant, but still made her feel like she was in charge.

Her heart beat uncertainly in her chest.

But then she remembered the promise she made to herself; how she would never let Jonathon hold herself back, ever again.

And there was a strong, good man before her, who would give her the world if only she would ask for it.

She waited for a second, before kissing him one more time in way of saying yes. He kissed her neck, slowly, in a way that made her heart almost burst in her chest. He kissed down her chest, through the crevice of her breasts, making Clary's breathing go ragged. He lit a raging fire on her skin, a path of explosions that erupted along her stomach.

He was going slow, tortuously so, but Clary urged him on by bucking her hips forward. He grabbed her legs and hung them over his shoulders, looking up at her with a dangerous and predatory look in his gold eyes.

"Os jy biang nou, cstrisi?" He asked her in a low voice, sending shudders through Clary's body.

 _(Are you scared now, cstrisi?)_

Clary moaned as he kissed in between her thighs, gentle yet persistent. He lowered her underclothes, shimmying them off in a way that made Clary see stars.

She writhed under his touch as he blew cool air down in her cunt; he gripped her legs, with almost bruising pressure, but she hardly noticed.

Hidden away, slyly beneath her mindless lust, she dimly thought of how many women he had pleasured before. Kaelie? Aline? But any thoughts of any women before her were gone as he kissed her folds, making her squirm in pleasure.

He was here with her now.

Not with anyone else.

That made a spark pure possessiveness shoot down her spine as she clutched at the sheets beneath her, gasping as he nibbled gently down on her most sensitive spot.

He was talented with his mouth, she thought, almost crudely.

As he bit, and licked and pleasured her in a way that no man ever could, she felt herself rise higher and higher, until she felt like she was floating amongst the gods.

And she cried out when her release finally come, seeing the stars floating in her eyes as pure pleasure racked her body. She was sent to live amongst the sun, flying high up in the stars.

And she she didn't come down for a long time.

* * *

 **So...it's rated M for a reason (*winks). And who loves cold, badass Clary even more? Cause I know I do!**

 **Alright, so please review! Thank you so much.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	19. Chapter 19 ( Rise, Then Fall Again)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 19. What Wicked Things May Come**

 **Hi everyone! I've decided to re-do this chapter, because I've reviewed the story and I've decided that I can't go on with that particular story line. So I re-wrote it and I decided that I like this one so much better.**

 **Anyways, I have some questions for all of you:**

 **1\. Should this story have dragons?**

 **2\. I'm thinking I should go over and fix up and maybe change a few things about this story in a few chapters. It doesn't really fit my vision. What do you think?**

 **3\. Should I also keep this chapter, or continue with the other one?**

 **Thank you so so so much for all your reviews! Please read and review, I love all of your thoughts and opinions.**

* * *

 **Chapter 19 (Re-done)**

 **-Clary-**

The sun, gentle and simmering in the late afternoon, bloomed like a new-born flower in the springtime. Clary breathed in the warm, sweet-smelling air that wafted through the tendrils of the grass. The sky was streaked with light colors of rose and yellow, looking rather like fingers as they stretched long and wide across the blue expanse. She was mounted on Callisto, stopped atop a mountain slope; the clearing below spread out into a sprinkling of pine trees.

If she strained her ears, she could hear the faint chirping of the insects, the far-away noise of the gushing streams.

All was good and right with the world.

Callisto flicked her mane, white hair dancing like fire around her muzzle. Clary smiled faintly, before Izzy's voice cut through her trance like a whip. "Clary!" Her best friend's voice, impatient and nasally, sliced through her daydream. "We have to go, it's almost dark."

Clary scowled at her, steering Callisto so that she was facing her. "Are you trying to wake the dead?" She asked irritatingly.

Izzy gave her a nasty look, perfect features laced with venom. She sniffed, offended as she flicked a strand of silky black hair away from her face. "It's nearly dark," she repeated again, dark eyes narrowed. "We should head back if we want to avoid rangers and thieves."

Clary closed her eyes, wistful that she had to leave the beauty that surrounded her, swallowed her whole. "All right," she said, not unkindly. "Let's leave." Her heart only thought of her lord husband, and his gentleness and strong arms and crooked smile that he reserved only for her.

She whistled for Lykaios, who had accompanied them by the demand of Jace who had told her she wasn't allowed out without her loyal wolf companion.

She frowned as he didn't appear, but didn't worry too much. He knew the road back to Idris and the woods in this area were empty, so the threat of hunters was near non-existent.

However, it was getting dark.

And raiders, rapists, murders and thieves were known to frequent the area, skirting around the boarders to avoid the fierce warriors of Idris.

Callisto huffed as Clary steered her horse around so that she began to tread down the cobbled path. She urged her horse forward so that she caught up to Isabelle and her steed. They rode together, dressed in traditional Idrisian clothing of horse skin and animal furs.

They rode in a comfortable silence, enjoying the late summer breeze as it blew back the tresses of their hairs.

But, as if the Gods were resentful of their good fortune, the weather changed, the sky darkening at an increased speed and the sun sunk more quickly into the earth.

Isabelle shifted in her saddle, eyes darting nervously to the frantic, whispering trees that spoke truths into the winds. Her hand brushed the hilt of her dagger, nails worrying the palms of her hand. "I don't like this," she muttered through her teeth. "I don't like this at all."

Clary also felt the unfortunate feeling of being watched, as if the land around her had eyes. They watched her closely, gazes harsh and unforgiving as something like fear trickled down her spine. "It's fine," she said confidently enough, but an underling sense of uneasiness was bottled under this false sense of ease. "We're nearly home, and the sun won't set for quite a while."

Despite her reassurances, Clary still felt nervous, but Isabelle subtly relaxed, hand lowering from her dagger.

Clary had never once wanted her husband, warm and reassuring, by her side more than that moment. Hot hands on her skin, soft lips skimming down her neck, broad shoulders hard and muscled and tanned under her hands.

Her breath suddenly skipped a beat and she blushed furiously. They hadn't done much in the way of fucking, but he pleasured her in ways that made her see stars.

He made her feel safe.

Loved.

Herself.

He made her feel like herself.

Who she was supposed to be.

Her face was hot; she bit her lip, trying to ignore the rush of heat that flooded her core. She let her hair fall in front of her face, hiding her blush from Isabelle.

They rode at a steady but urgent pace, eager to return home. Callisto neighed softly, silver coat shimmering in the soft darkness of the night. When they eventually noticed the familiar markings of the symbols of the Idrisian Gods carved into their sacred trees, Clary sighed in relief, her insecurities gone.

Home.

Where Jace was.

Then, suddenly, Isabelle gasped from behind her.

Clary whipped around, heart pounding in her chest as she squinted in the dark, trying to make out her friend.

A burly man wearing ratty clothes grinned maliciously at her, a sword in one hand, Isabelle's hair fisted in the other, showing yellow teeth. Clary froze, her fear slowly spreading through her body until it paralyzed her completely. His arm, thick with callouses and scars, was gripped tight around Isabelle, pinning down her arms.

She was shrieking at him in Idrisian and English, swearing profusely as she spouted profanities, squirming restlessly in his arms.

"Nice to see a girl with a nasty mouth," he laughed; Clary's gut clenched in hate. "They're always the ones who are great at sucking cock."

Clary glared at him, hand dropping to the dagger Jace gave her. The man shook his head, dirty face scarred beyond recognition. "Don't even think about it, sweetheart," he sneered, spitting at the ground. "I got men all around you."

Her eyes wondered towards the trees that hung over the path, up to the hill slopes. She cursed herself.

It was the perfect set-up.

There was movement in the trees; Clary caught a glance of a man, bow in hand, arrow notched, pointed straight at her. She dropped her hand, slowly dismounting Callisto. "Let her go," she almost growled, her voice fierce, demanding.

The man laughed gruffly, drawing his blade to Isabelle's throat, who had been squirming until the sharp edge of his sword rested against her neck. She was silenced, the fire in her soul vanquished as she stopped her movements.

"I have gold," Clary told the man, her mind racing. "Plenty of it. You can have it all, just let us leave unharmed." She didn't tell him that she was the Queen of Idris, married to one of the strongest warriors alive. It would only increase her value, and wasn't sure if they would believe her or if they would use it against her.

The man considered her, blade flush with Isabelle's neck. "I have an abundance of gold, my lady," he said mockingly. "But, of women?" He tsked, shaking his head. "My men need a good fuck with a pretty girl after a hard day of raiding. And you two," he smirked, giving Isabelle's breast a quick grope; Clary tensed, Isabelle growled. "Look like a great lay."

"I'm giving you a chance to let us go," Clary said calmly enough, but fury gripped her in it's cold fingers. "A chance to live. Do not take that lightly."

He burst into laughter, low chuckles of disbelief at her threats. "You talk too much. But you won't be when my cock is stuffed down your pretty throat."

Clenching her jaw, Clary tried to reign in her anger. "You-!" She saw red, as she reached for her dagger, prepared to strike it deep in his forehead.

But an arrow struck deep into shoulder; she gasped in pain, sinking to her knees, clutching at her shoulder. Red-hot anger vibrated through her body, making her shake. Her vision shook, splotches of white skimming across her eyes.

Isabelle screamed, snarling as she watched hopelessly.

Suddenly, something blunt and hard struck the back of Clary's head. She collapsed onto the ground, the feel of grass and twigs beneath her. Her eyes struggled to stay open, but she gave up as sleep caught her in it's claws, swooping her away into sleep.

* * *

"Clary!" Someone hissed; she felt something sharp poke her in the stomach. "Clary, wake up!" Another sharp poke, harder this time, nails digging into her flesh. Her eyes told her to wake up, to open her eyes, but her body succumbed to sleep. _No_ , it told her. _Rest._

But she knew she had to wake up, because of some urgent reason.

 _Danger,_ her mind whispered to her. _Wake up._

Clary groaned, her body and mind slowly awakening, feeling gathering in her body. She was lying, on the hard ground, sticky fluid clinging to her body like sweat. Was it sweat? She thought, half-delirious. Her eyes refused to open, as if they were glued together. She felt herself drifting off again when someone hissed her name, poking her in the ribs with a bony finger.

"Clary!" A voice growled once again. "Please, wake up!"

She gasped, sitting upward, eyes forcing themselves apart. Her vision struggled to adjust to the dark room, scrambling to see anything at all. Only a candle illuminated the room, throwing off a dim light that bounced off the walls. She was in a dark, enclosed space, a cold breeze drafting around her body, biting through her clothes. She shivered, going to wrap her arms around her body but something held her back.

She looked down, frowning.

She was shackled, chains bounding her feet together, her hands tied together. She tugged, frantic, but they were attached firmly to the wall.

She tugged again, harder this time.

Irrational fear awoke in her stomach, as alive as always.

 _A small puddle of blood was gathered at her feet, dripping down the length of her legs, crimson liquid dribbling down her hands._

 _She whimpered as her chains cut into her wrists, drawing more blood._

 _She wanted to end._

 _To make it stop._

"Don't bother trying," A bored voice said from behind her. Clary turned; Isabelle, dirtied, blood dripping slowly down her face, sat next to her, brown eyes impassive. She was slouched up against the stone wall, expression cool. "I have been for ages now."

"Izzy!" Clary cried, moving closer to her. In that moment, she was so glad she wasn't alone, she was there with someone else. She wasn't in her own head, she wasn't back there with him anymore, she was here, with Isabelle.

One of the strongest people she knew.

A sharp pain in her shoulder stopped her; Clary sucked in breath, feeling dizzy.

Izzy sat up, concern lingering in her eyes. "Careful," she warned, chained hands going up to support her. "You've been shot in the shoulder. I managed to convince _them_ ," she spat the word, "to let me heal you. But still, you'll be in pain."

Clary remembered the arrow sinking into her skin, biting through the layers of skin and flesh. It was now wrapped in a gauze, but Clary still felt the injury pulsing angrily.

She looked around the room, breathing slightly heavy. "Where are we?" She asked Isabelle, who had resumed her previous position.

Isabelle shrugged, the motion barely visible in the candlelight. "I'm not sure. It's far from Idris, though. I think it's a windmill, a one they stole no doubt. They blindfolded me when we arrived," she told Clary, voice echoing slightly across the room.

Clary's mind scrambled for an escape. "Jace," she said, heart beginning to hurt at the mention of his name. "He won't stop until he finds us."

She said it with such certainty that it left no room for any doubt.

He would find her.

Isabelle sent her an imploring look. "We're far away from Idris, Clary. Deep in the forest, off Idrisian lands," she said bitterly. "They'll probably find our corpses."

Those words made goosebumps erupt along her spine.

"Don't say that," Clary said fiercely. "Jace will find us. I know he will." But Isabelle's words were enough to plant a seed of doubt in her mind. It did make sense; Isabelle's realistic outlook on life was enough to make Clary question just how far her lord husband would go for her. Would he give up? Simply marry another woman? The thought made her head spin and her stomach feel heavy. No, she thought. He wouldn't do that. He would look for her, and Izzy, until he found them.

Isabelle closed her eyes, head tilted backward. "They'll be here soon," she told Clary, looking defeated. "Just close your eyes and you'll get through it. If they are merciful, they'll kill you immediately afterwards."

They were going to rape her.

Hold her against her will, and do awful, awful things to her body.

She began to tremble, trying to contain her panic.

She had to be strong.

"We'll fight them until the end, Clary," Isabelle told her, voice thick with sleep. "Don't let those fuckers win."

Clary tucked herself into Isabelle's side, closing her eyes, expelling a shaky breath. She was so, so scared, and so tired. Her body was covered in grime, her clothes ripped, her arm soaked in blood. Isabelle's body was warm; Clary shivered, trying to absorb her warmth. "Shh..." Isabelle whispered, sounding so, so tired. "Sleep, Clary. Sleep."

Clary submitted, letting her eyes fall. Sleep soared in, clutching her in it's claws, taking her away towards sleep.

* * *

Noise, loud and bumbling, woke Clary from her slumber, making her jolt awake from underneath Isabelle's arm. It took a second for her to regain a sense of her surroundings; she blinked, clearing her groggy head. She shook Isabelle awake, pulse beating frantically in her chest.

She closed her eyes, clutching at her necklaces; her mother's family heirloom, and her wedding gift. The green jewel Jace had given her.

She thought of him, of his smile that made her knees weak, and how he acted gentle, so gentle, with her and only her while the rest of world was oblivious to his kindness hidden under his tall, stone walls...

She smiled

 _Be strong._

 _Have courage._

She took a deep breath, a fierce fire building in the pit of her stomach.

Isabelle was wide awake, a grim determination written into the dark brown of her eyes. Her shackles, rusted with blood, strained against her skin as she clenched her fists.

Her eyes met Clary's eyes, sombre. She squeezed her hand, cold fingers seeking Clary's warmth and reassurance.

There were no words needed.

There was a flurry of voices outside the room; mainly masculine, deep, gruff voices that made Clary's heart thump faster than usual. A loud bump made Clary jump; jeers and taunts followed, drunken cheering becoming louder and louder. Clary was certain that they were right outside, because the noise was loud and their laughter was in her ears-

Silence.

Complete and utter silence.

Clary held her breath, praying.

The door swung open, banging loudly against the wall. Clary's hope withered and died in her chest, wailing as it crumbled into ash.

About a dozen men stumbled in, reeking of alcohol and sweat and piss. The smell invaded the room like fog, burning Clary's nostrils as she gagged at the smell. They laughed amongst themselves, ambling towards the two girls.

The man from before, the one who had held his blade to Isabelle's throat, stepped forward, grinning victoriously. "What did I tell you, men?" He slurred. "Two pretty women."

Another man, with greasy black locks and milky blue eyes, chuckled in agreement. "You captured some Idrisian whores? I'm impressed, Leon. Those sluts are always with their men," he commented.

"I heard they fuck their own horses," a third man, short and rat-like, piped up. "The women are no longer satisfied with their husbands because their cocks cant fit in their cunts." The men laughed amongst themselves.

Clary and Isabelle had remained silent for the exchange, but Clary could sense Isabelle's rage simmering at the men's offensive words.

"Bloody savages." Their main captor, Leon, spat out.

"But they do make some decent whores." There was a violent round of laughter that followed.

"Who do you want first?" Leon, rubbing his dirty, calloused hands together, asked his companions. "Remember, it's gonna cost you. Whores don't cost easy."

"I want the redhead first," one of men smirked, eyeing Clary's body, lingering on her breasts. She scowled at him, nails biting into her palms, breaking through the skin. "I've heard that they're feisty. Do great in bed. Things you cant even imagine." His voice made Clary flinch; the feeling of disgust, that a million tiny insects were crawling up her back.

The man reached for her, but she roughly jerked her arms away. "Do not touch me," she said, her voice ice-cold, laced with fury.

The man raised an eyebrow, showing browning teeth. "And why not, love?" He said, a contemptuous smile curling his top lip.

Despite the pain in her shoulder, the injuries inflicted on her body, she slowly rose to her feet, trembling slightly as she did so. She held her head up, her shoulders squared. A cool expression of authority crossed her face. "I am Clarissa Morgenstern, descendant of the First Folk, Queen of Idris, Wife of Koning Jeroki, Koningin to the Idrisian People and the Last Living Daughter of House Fairchild," she said, her voice demanding, seeming to fill the entire room; the men noticeably paled as they heard who she was. "And if you do not let us leave, my husband will find you and tear you to pieces and your widows and children will weep for your corpses."

Isabelle watched her in carefully contained surprise; the men gaped at her, eyes wide, ruddy faces deprived of any color at all.

Clay watched them with bated breath, waiting for something, anything at all.

"Queen of Idris, eh?" Leon asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Clary's heart sank; they didn't believe her.

It was her last card.

Another man grinned. "Always wanted to fuck a Queen," he simpered, moving to grab her chains.

Clary's stomach plummeted to the ground.

He started to pull her towards him; she resisted with all her might, scrambling away from the man with all the might she had. He growled, bucking the chains violently; she gasped as she fell forward, chains digging harshly into her wrists. He grabbed her by the waist, making her shriek as he shoved her down onto her hands and knees.

Isabelle, furious and red-faced, was thrashing in her chains, yelling for them to stop. A man hit her hard across the man, so hard that he drew blood.

Clary's breathing was shallow as his hands traveled up and down her body; tears gathered in her eyes as she sucked in shallow breaths.

No.

No, no, no.

She swallowed, her vision blurry, the room around her spinning frantically. A dull ringing in her ears was all she could hear.

His large, greedy hands groped her in ways that no one else but her lord husband was allowed to. His fingers rested on her back, grasping her clothes. He ripped them apart, tearing her dress down the middle. The lower-half of her body was completely exposed, only her breasts and midriff hidden by the torn fabric.

"No!" Isabelle roared, yanking at her chains.

The men around her laughed, but Clary couldn't hear it. She heard nothing. She shivered as the cool air hit her cunt.

This was it.

A tear dribbled down her cheeks, tracing the outline of her face.

His hands gripped her waist with bruising pressure, making her flinch.

His foul-smelling breath on her neck, making her shake uncontrollably. She shut her eyes, struggling to contain her shallow breaths.

She gasped as she felt _something_ brush up against her thigh.

The world around her slowed.

 _This was it._

Yells and screams suddenly resounded from the outside corridor. The man above Clary froze, hands on her waist, pants pulled down to his ankles. It became louder and louder; this time, Clary could hear the faint sound of swords clanging against each other, roars and whimpers reaching Clary's ears.

Leon and his men frowned, hands reaching for individual weapons. "What the fuck?" One of them muttered.

Fear, sweat and the smell of piss tangled together in the air; tension bound it in a neat package, making the men murmur and swallow amongst themselves. Clary, still in her previous position, didn't move but something like anticipation grew heavy in her chest.

Then, all was quiet.

The men shifted uneasily amongst themselves, casting each other anxious looks.

The door burst open, a horde of Idrisian men flooding in, wielding spears, swords and axes. Her Jace at the front, looking deadly as he held his sword, which was dripping with blood.

Clary scrambled to her feet, heart glowing with a thousand different emotions at once.

He eyed her ripped clothes, her bloody shoulder. There was something in his eyes, a deep fury that made his eyes look black and a low growl gather in her throat. "Maak hulle almal doed," he ordered, voice cruel.

 _(Kill them all)._

The men barely had enough time to enough lift their swords as the Idrisians swept through them, barely visible as they slit throats, stabbed stomachs and used their curved swords to slice off heads. She had only seen them fight a few times, but she hadn't seen the full extent of their skills. And her husband's skill and capacity was not exaggerated, as he sliced through the men, killing them in an instant.

Clary watched him as he came up to the man who had grabbed her. He fell to his knees, eyes pleading. "Mercy, ple-" He choked on his final words as Jace grunted, expertly slicing his throat. The man fell to the ground, gurgling on his own blood.

Jace turned to her, face streaked with blood. He looked like everything that her handmaidens had told her about; bloodthirsty, brutal men who pillaged and murdered and stole.

Seconds passed, his gaze holding her own.

But she ran into his arms, throwing herself into his warm embrace. Her arms looped around his neck, her cheek flush with his face.

He was frozen, but came back to life as he grabbed her just as fiercely, strong arms crushing her waist as he breathed her in. "Jace." She whispered into his neck, smelling in his familiar spicy scent of pine and smoke and fresh grass.

He squeezed her, pressing her even closer. "Shh..." he said into her head, peppering her face with kisses. "Jy os veilig."

 _(You're safe)._

And she believed him.

As he held her like she was the most precious thing in his life.

She believed him.

* * *

 **Anyways...yay! I promise I'll update soon, as fast as I can.**

 **Please review! And answer the questions above.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	20. Chapter 20 (A Great Agony)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 20. A Great Agony**

 **Hiya guys! I'm posting! Yay! Anyways, I hope you like this chapter I worked super hard on it and I hope you enjoy it, I tried really hard. I like it a lot. It's part 3, the final part of the flashback installment. It gets pretty gruesome afterwards. I hope you likey!**

 **Sorry there's no Clace, but there will be plenty of Clace in the next chapter (lemons as well)! Yay?**

 **All of your reviews were amazing! 500, WHAT? Thank you so, so much, all of you and your support is so good. Thank you so much, again.**

 **Check out Serene Calamity's page, she writes amazing AU fanfics. You'll love it.**

 **Anyways, please read and review.**

 **Part 3 of flashbacks:**

* * *

 **Chapter 20.**

 **-Clary-**

Spluttering, Clary scrambled to her feet as a swell of water slapped her across the face, dousing her completely. She blinked, attempting to regain her vision as she coughed, ridding her lungs of fluid. The dungeons were cold, near glacial, and even more so as she shivered uncontrollably, her body devoid of any heat. She stood, unsure, on two trembling legs as she glared at the subject of her terror.

"Good morning, little sister." Jonathon, handsome and regal, smiled angelically at her, two knights flanking his side. One held a bucket, a trail of water dribbling over the side.

She glanced at the pair of them, recognition flitting through her mind.

Clary knew them.

Both of them.

Knights whom she had grown up with; Pangborn, who had given her treats and helped her mount her horse; Blackwell, a kind knight who had held grace with her father and told her jokes to make her laugh.

Men, good men, who had looked upon her with fondness and affection, as a loving uncle would do.

There was nothing on their faces now.

Biting her lip, she struggled to hold her tears at bay. Her nails cut harshly into her palms, the ache chasing them away. She sniffled, setting a fixed glare onto her features. They would not see her tears, not now or ever.

Men who had sworn to protect their princess, the daughter of their king.

She stared at her older brother, rage, fury, loathing, and just a sliver of fear, coiling up like snake around her body, sinking it's fangs deep into her heart. "Jonathon," she said, voice quiet yet stony with rage, water dripping down her hair, tracing patterns across her skin.

He grinned at her, a gesture most people would find charming, but Clary could see past through his devilish charm.

He was all devil.

"Sweet, sweet sister," he purred, a soft lock of blond-white hair falling in front of his eyes. "How has your night in the dungeons been? I hear that you can still hear the screams of the dead prisoners during the night. They shriek and moan and cry out for their loved ones, pleading for death. What have you heard, dear Clarissa?"

She remained silent.

Jonathon frowned, looking displeased. "Your king has asked you a question. Answer him," he said, calmly enough, but something dark stirred in the pits of his glittering eyes.

Again, she said nothing, but just glared at him, despise written plainly in her face.

Jonathon waited for her response, looking noble in his deep purple silks with the Morgenstern house sigil of a fallen star stitched in. Time, seconds or minutes, she wasn't sure, passed yet Clary still said nothing. Jonathon tilted his head to the side, handsome face expectant. Pangborn and Blackwell remained stoic, loyal and silent by Jonathon's side.

Her father had been gone for all of two moons, yet Jonathon had assumed his kingship the moment their father had died.

The moment Clary had feared her entire life.

Her brother, in a position of extreme power. Capable of things Clary couldn't even conjure up. Jonathon had always been an odd, unique child. He hated Clary, and she had never really understood why. Like most things about her older brother, there was a twisted, dark reason behind it.

Whenever something happened, terrible and sad, Jonathon was there. Looking blank as he watched on, arms folded, head tilted slightly to the side.

He had unnerved Clary her entire life.

And it didn't help that he had tormented her for most of her adolescence.

Creeping into her bed during the night, whispering stories about ghosts and dead men who came for children during the night. Taking her out deep into the forest, then leaving her at dusk and stealing her horse. Eventually, it got a lot worse, to the point where even Valentine was unable to control his son. Her brother would take her pets and cut them into pieces, before shoving them into her pillowcase.

Her father was not a violent man, but he seemed close to hitting Jonathon when he had skewered Clary's cat, Symeine. Bryta comforted her after this and sang her to sleep afterwards.

However, whatever Jonathon did, her father was there to protect her as always. When she got nightmares from Jonathon's stories, her father would hold her until they went away.

When Jonathon took her out into the forest and abandoned her there, Valentine would ride out and search until he found her.

When her older brother put the remains of her dead animals into her pillowcases, her father would clean the entire room three times over, give her more dessert and a kiss on her forehead until she stopped crying.

But he wasn't there to protect her anymore.

She was completely exposed to the full potential of Jonathon's wrath.

Her father, in her head, was the image of a perfect king. Kind, gentle, noble and caring. She was always so proud of Valentine, who was gracious and everything that a king should be. The type of monarchy that the old tales spoke of, strong and righteous and virtuous.

And Jonathon was not that king.

The moment Jonathon had become king, he implemented changes that her father would never have allowed.

Taxes were raised, demand for more men and young boys to work in the gold mines was increasingly higher and Jonathon was determined to conquer more and more of their land back from the Idrisians. This meant sending men out deep into the forests, risking their lives for Jonathon's pride. The people of Alicante were being starved, their wealth and possessions stripped from them as Jonathon stole and took. They rioted violently, cursing the king and his name and Jonathon responded by savage beatings and whippings in the streets.

Clary could not abide.

And she would not submit to her tyrannous brother.

It was customary for all members of the royal party to bow down and say the vow that showed their loyalty and acceptance of the new king. It showed the strength and wisdom of the king, as well as the bond between family.

Clary knew the words better than anyone; her father had taught her as a child. They had been sitting outside the turrets, where he was reading to her from a book.

 _"Remember, Clarissa, when Jonathon comes of age, you must pledge yourself to him," he had said to her, voice light enough, but something troubled stirred in his eyes. "He will be your king, and you as always, his younger sister, the Princess."_

 _"Can't I be King?" She had asked him, voice excited at the prospect._

 _He shook his head, smiling at her. "No, sweet child. You'll be married to a prince, and you will keep his castle and his home, bear his children and raise his sons as kings. You will be you husband's Queen, and rule beside him."_

 _She had frowned at that. "Do I have to?" She had questioned, crossing her arms over her chest. It didn't sound like something she wanted to do._

 _He was quiet for a moment. "Yes. Yes, Clarissa. It is what is expected of you, as a king's daughter. As a princess, it is what you must do, as your duty. Understand?"_

 _Clary nodded, but something hardened in her chest. "Yes, father."_

 _"Alright. Can you say the vow once more?"_

 _She straightened, smiling up at him. "I, of mind, soul and body, pledge my allegiance and loyalty to King Jonathon of House Morgenstern, Ruler of Alicante and Protector of the Kingdom. He is my king, for all of my days, from now until the end," she recited, near perfectly._

But she did not say the vow.

Not to her brother.

Jonathon needed Clary to vow herself to him; to pledge loyalty and allegiance to Valentine Morgenstern's son. However, she had refused to, so he had chained her down here, in the dungeons like she was a prisoner.

She wasn't sure how long she had been down here for, as the time passed quite fluidly, but she knew it had been at least a couple of months since her father's death.

She missed him.

In the middle of the night, she would cry out for her father, wishing he was there.

But he was not.

Only Jonathon remained, the last of her kin, and he treated her awfully.

He kept her starved, only feeding her enough so that she would not die. He needed the face of Clarissa Morgenstern, the former King's daughter. He had not been physical with her yet, but she feared it. The threat was very, very real.

He was no king.

And nor was he her's, either.

"You are not my king," she spat at him, forgetting all her lessons of courtesy and the social norm of a lady's behavior. "Not now, or ever."

Her temper had gotten the best of her yet again, but only a sliver of regret hung in her words.

Would her father be proud?

Or would he reprimand her for disobeying the king?

Doubt shadowed her mind, casting seeds of uneasiness through her thoughts. Her father had told her to vow to Jonathon, but he hadn't seen what his son had done.

Jonathon's expression didn't change but something, something dark and sinister, brew in the caverns of his eyes. He stepped forward, the gesture seemingly non-threatening, but mimicked dark undertones. "You have a rebellious nature, little sister," he mused, lips pursed into a dark smile. "Reminds me of a wild horse. Do you know how we tame wild horses, sweet sister?" Clary started to tremble at his ominous words. "We break them in."

Clary stared blankly at her brother, heart thumping erratically in her chest.

"Ser Pangborn, Ser Blackwell," Jonathon smirked at her. "Teach my sister what it means to disobey her king."

"No!" Clary shrieked as the two men approached, faces hard and cold. "Bryat will kill you." Her heart broke as she thought of her mother figure. "I order you to-!"

She gasped violently as Blackwell's fist smacked her across the face. Never in her life, not once, had she ever been hurt or injured like that before. Especially by a member of her father's guard. His knuckles split open her skin; blood, rich and warm, trickled down her face.

She stared up at him, feeling disbelief run coarse through her veins, the man who had grown up making her giggle at funny stories about trolls and goblins.

He was not that man anymore.

A boot caught her in the stomach; she coughed, yelping as she flew back onto the ground. She curled up in a ball, hugging her abdomen, attempting to control her breathing.

"Submit, Clarissa, and the pain will end," Jonathon's voice floated somewhere above her. "Say the vow, and I will end this."

Another kick, this time to her ribs. She sucked in a shaky breath, her tears blurring her vision. "Never," she said through gritted teeth. "I will never submit to someone like you."

Jonathon leered at her, face twisted and ugly in the light. "Then, sweet sister, this agony will never end. Why can't you understand that?" He said, something like dark sympathy lining his tone.

She glared at him, her breathing ragged.

"Strip her down," Jonathon ordered, a cruel smirk twisting his features.

Pangborn and Blackwell advanced, grabbing her by the arms as she yelled, pleading for them to stop. "No!" She shrieked. "Don't, please! If you even dare to-!" She gasped as they grasped at the sleeves of her arms, tearing her clothes apart. They continued while she cried out, begging for them to stop. She fell to her knees, desperately grabbing at her clothes, holding them up so that they hid her body from her brother's eyes.

Tears dripped down her face; embarrassment, anger and betrayal flooded her veins clean. She let out a small noise as she clutched at her clothes, whimpering slightly.

She fought tooth and nail as they ripped the final shreds of clothing were ripped off her body.

She huddled into herself, silently weeping as she tried to cover her breasts. It was cold down here, now freezing as she wrapped her arms around herself, naked.

Jonathon peered down at her, smile as charming as ever. "You've grown, little sister. Much more than I've expected," he grinned. "Chain her up to the walls. Legs and arms completely apart."

The two knights nodded, grabbing her roughly by the arms, hard enough to leave bruises. She thrashed around viciously, yelling at Jonathon as the men she had regarded as her protectors chained her to the wall, shackling her arms and legs to the wall.

She slumped in defeat, letting the chains dig deep into her wrists.

Jonathon wandered over to her, eyes wandering up and down her body. She cringed, pulling uselessly at her shackles in a pathetic attempt to hide her away from his eyes. He stopped just before her. "Remember what I told you, dear sister. All of this can end if you submit. Accept me as your king," he said softly.

She held her head up with as much dignity as she could. "You'll never be the man or king that father was," she told him coldly. "I hope you know that."

He watched her for a split second, green eyes holding her own.

Then he walked away, Pangborn and Blackwell trailing after him, still silent as Clary stared after them.

* * *

The days turned into weeks, long, hard, painful weeks. Jonathon visited her everyday with new threats and new men. Knights leered at her naked body, disgusted by the grime and blood that covered her completely. They had lied to her all her life. Knights were not kind or valiant or good. They were not noble or brave, but cruel and vicious beasts who took turns hitting her and groping her breasts.

They were not the men who Bryta told her about, who featured in the stories her father told her. The men who served her father, broke bread and shared wine, were all a great, terrible lie that she had been fed her entire life.

They were all terrible men.

And Jonathon, their ruler, was the worst of them all.

He came down, promising her that he would stop if she submitted. When she didn't, he got furious and threatened her with rape and death. _My men will take you, little sister,_ he had feverishly told her, _and fuck you until you lie in a puddle of your own blood._

She knew that he was serious.

Jonathon always carried out his threats, ones that he had made even as a child.

But still, she refused.

Chained up, dirtied, dried blood sticky against her skin, tear tracks patterned down her face, she still denied him her oath.

It wasn't just that he wanted her oath. He wanted her submission. He wanted her to bow to him, make her grovel, to pay for whatever crimes she had committed. He didn't want just her words, but rather her soul.

And she denied him that.

As the time passed, Jonathon became increasingly frustrated. His usual facade of calm, collected persona was now breaking apart.

New torture methods began.

He had his men hold her under water until she blacked out. He pushed rusty nails into her abdomen until she bled and her body turned a scary shade of white. He lit a match under her body and threatened to burn her alive unless she submitted.

None of this worked.

She held on, to the memory of her father, the man she loved more than anything, to keep her going.

Jonathon grew more frustrated.

He decreased her quantity of food, so she only had a slice of moldy bread and a rotten piece of fruit to keep her going.

"Submit." He would glare at her. "Submit, Clarissa. Remember, I can take all this away."

And then one day, he broke her. Mentally, smashing her into a million tiny pieces until there was nothing left of her at all. It was just like any other day. She was still hung up, the pain in her wrists numbed; it no longer hurt. She was starved, her ribs showing, her bones evident through her skin. Once, Jonathon had held up a mirror for her to see herself, shouting gleefully, "Look, little sister, look! Look at yourself!"

And she had.

A naked, sallow girl with greasy, lank red hair with gaunt, sunken-in cheeks and dark, blue bruises imprinted under her eyes.

She swallowed, squinting her eyes. Was it really her? A ghost-like, pathetic, frail, wisp of a girl.

No. It couldn't be.

A part of her died that day.

"Clarissa!" Her brother's voice, cheery and light as ever, floated in through the dungeon door. "How are you this morning?" He asked, mock brotherly concern melding his features.

She glared hatefully at him. All her strength had left her; she sagged against the wall, bone-thin arms barely enough to support her.

"Still not answering your king?" His smile grew wide. She immediately grew suspicious of him. He looked well-rested, and his skin was flushed bright with sun.

The sun.

Clary closed her eyes, trying to remember. She could feel the memories of playing around in the grass, the hot glare of the sun dusting her skin. She wanted that heat again.

"That's quite alright, dear sister." Her head snapped up, eyes peeling open. Her suspicion reared it's head, growing in size as it snarled. "There are other methods."

"You've tried everything, Jonathon," she croaked, her throat dry and raspy from use. She hadn't much until now, only screams and yells. "It won't work."

He cocked his head to the side, the gold crown on his head glittering in the candlelight. "You're right, Clarissa. For once in your life, you're absolutely right. Torture doesn't work on someone as stubborn and pathetically persistent as you." He drew out a knife. "But I've thought of something that might."

She watched him warily, pressing herself firmly against the wall. Her pulse, weak and stuttering, increased.

He walked towards her, the blade sharp and menacing. "Shepherds brand their cows when they want to claim them as their own, Clarissa. And you, are just another animal." He looked at her, something along the lines of pity embedded into his eyes.

"No," she said hoarsely, shaking her head. "Jonathon, please, I'm your sister."

She had said that to him at least a thousand times, first at vigor but as the days past, it lost any meaning at all. Now, it was just a meaningless phrase that she chanted to her brother.

"Yes," he said, voice emotionless. "Yes, you are."

He advanced on her, spearing her with a knife as she screamed, screamed like there was nothing else left to live for.

* * *

 _Drip, drip, drip._

Her blood fell to the ground in a monotonous pattern that made Clary want to scream.

But she couldn't.

 _Drip, drip, drip._

Her screams were gone. Nothing else remained. She was so, so tired, but she battled against it. She tried to be alert, to be vigilant, but she couldn't be. She couldn't be Clarissa Morgenstern anymore. She didn't want to be.

 _Drip, drip, drip._

She was tired of being strong.

She was tired of being hurt, by the one person who was supposed to protect her.

 _Drip, drip, drip._

She gritted her teeth, the pain nauseating. It was constantly there, grating against her body. She let out a low moan, a raspy breath escaping her lips.

 _Drip, drip, drip._

She looked down, head heavy as it hung from her neck. It was still there. She had tried to will it away, but it was still there. Always there, marked permanently into her skin.

It would be there forever.

He had branded her, in his own way. Just like an animal.

A tear dripped down her cheek.

J-O-N-A-T-H-O-N.

He had marked her there, branding it into her fragile skin.

She was his.

He had made sure of that.

* * *

Days passed, yet Jonathon did not visit. No one did. It was just her, alone with her thoughts, in a lonely, dark dungeon.

 _Drip, drip, drip._

She screamed, pulling frantically against her chains.

* * *

All she saw was her own blood.

Bright and vibrant, it bled across the floor, crimson as more of it dripped from her arms and her stomach.

She was certain she was going insane.

* * *

More days passed.

Still, she couldn't sleep.

* * *

Drip, drip, drip.

* * *

Clary was hauled across the throne room by two unknown knights, who threw her unceremoniously at Jonathon's feet. He towered above her, smiling pleasantly. It was there, in the green of his eyes. He knew he had won. He was victorious. Expectancy laced his face as he stared down at his younger sister, who was reduced to nothing but a pile of bones soaked in blood and tears and grime.

She was no more.

Just someone Jonathon had created, molding her into something that was his creation.

He raised an eyebrow, looking polished and confident with silk robes and expensive jewels. "Say the oath," he breathed, no threat or motive behind his voice. He knew he was victorious.

Clary swallowed thickly, looking down at her feet. She fell to one knee, head bent, shame burning her cheeks red. "I, of mind, soul and body, pledge my allegiance and loyalty to King Jonathon of House Morgenstern, Ruler of Alicante and Protector of the Kingdom. He is my king, for all of my days, from now until the end," she said, voice still hoarse.

She had done it.

She had submitted.

* * *

 **Yeah, so...please review!**

 **I may update soon enough, depending on my schedule. I hope you guys liked, I worked super hard on this.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	21. Chapter 21 (Lust, A Pleasurable Sin)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 21. Lust, A Pleasurable Sin**

 **Hi guys! Here's my update! I hope you guys like it. I loved all of your reviews, they're so supportive and great and they made my day. So, as my gift to you, here is a chapter!**

 **Warning: There are heavy lemons in this chapter, so if you aren't comfortable with this chapter, then you can skip it. But you know, whatever you're good with. But I'm not amazing at lemons, so please be easy on the critical review! If you want more lemons, let me know in the reviews.**

 **Since most of you have asked for dragons, I may include them, but in a different way to GOT. It'll be different, and possibly in a way that you might not except.**

 **Please keep reading and reviewing, all of your reviews are awesome!**

 **So, without further ado, here is Chapter 21! Yay!**

* * *

 **Chapter 21.**

 **-Clary-**

Handmaidens bustled around Clary, brushing her hair and dotting her skin with sweet-smelling perfumes. She sat, despondent, as her hair was braided painfully tight, her body forced into a tight dress which held silk ribbons around her breasts. She stared down at her small, pale fingers that were gripping the edges of her light lilac dress. "Koningin?" A timid voice broke through her thoughts. She turned to a youthful handmaiden, a sweet girl with Idrisian features of dark eyes and darkened skin.

Clary attempted a half smile. "Yes?" She asked, green eyes likely glassy and lifeless.

"Isabelle want to see you, Koningin," the handmaiden told her. Clary's lips pursed together in a harsh line. Since they had been rescued from the raider's den, Isabelle had holed herself up in her room, refusing to see anyone.

Clary herself had reverted back into a lifeless shell, curling up and sleeping for long periods of time.

Her lord husband had been so worried about her that he had summoned the warlock, Magnus Bane, to examine her. He had declared that she was just in shock, and it would eventually pass. But it had been quite a while since then.

She had almost been raped.

Violated.

Chained up, shackled to the wall, stripped down to her bare skin. Groped and touched in ways that no one was allowed to do.

She shivered slightly as she rose to her feet, heading off to Isabelle's room. Her skin had been scrubbed clean, wounds stitched up and healed. Her hair was glowing, red curls pinned up and braided into an intricate design. Her dress was a silky, lilac-colored piece of clothing that clung to her figure and rippled out in pretty waves.

She reached Isabelle's door; she held up a hand, hesitant. Shaking her head, she knocked, quietly.

"Come in." Isabelle's voice, muffled, was apparent.

Clary edged the door open, wrinkling her nose at the smell. The room was dark; Clary squinted just so she could make out the piles of clothes scattered aimlessly around the room. "Izzy?" Clary whispered, afraid to make too much noise. It was cold in here, Clary realized, drawing her arms around herself. Goosebumps ran up the length of her arm, freezing the bare of her skin.

There was a slight movement on what Clary thought was to be the bed. "Clary." A lump on the bed sat upwards, Clary immediately recognizing it as Isabelle. She slid off the bed and slowly walked up to Clary, wrapping her arms around her.

Clary closed her eyes, face buried into the side of Isabelle's neck.

She smelt familiar, like vanilla and cinnamon scents.

More importantly, she smelt like Isabelle.

She was so cold; skin glacial to the touch. Now that Clary could see better, she noticed that her best friend was only wearing her underclothes. "Let's put you into something warm," Clary suggested, rubbing her hands up and down Isabelle's arms.

She murmured something incoherent into Clary's hair, arms still wrapped tight around her. Clary gently pried her off, guiding her friend back to the bed. She searched for something warm, but first decided to lit up some candles.

She was glad for the light; she managed to gather some furs and horse leather. She turned back to Isabelle; to Clary's surprise, and concern, there were dried tear tracks patterned down her cheeks. Clary dumped her clothes back onto her bed, before going to comfort her bed. "Izzy? What's wrong?" Clary asked, arm going around Isabelle's waist.

It was the first time in weeks where Clary was awake, actually aware of what was happening.

Because of her friend's apparent pain.

Isabelle drew her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her legs. She sniffled, looking pale and drawn as remorse twisted her beautiful features.

Clary had never seen her cry before. Isabelle was the epitome of female strength, a fierce, outspoken woman who was able wield a sword as well as wear a dress like a goddess. It was so strange to see her cry, looking broken as tears fell, thick and fast down her face.

"Isabelle?" Clary prompted, squeezing her waist. "Please, what's wrong?"

Isabelle shook her head frantically, burrowing her head in between her knees. "I-I can't," she gasped, shuddering.

Clary gripped her face in her hands, fingers digging into Isabelle's porcelain skin. "Isabelle," she told her firmly, concern growing vibrantly in her chest. "Your Queen demands you tell her."

Isabelle took a deep, shuddering breath. "I haven't told anyone. Not even Alec. I-I was just so scared, Clary. I was so, so scared," she muttered, pulling at strands of her hair, tugging at her silky black locks which were now greasy with lack of washing.

"Of what?" Clary prodded her, encouraging her with slight touches and soft smiles. She sat down next to Isabelle, trying to be as supportive as possible.

"B-before we were taken, by the raiders, I-I was with child." Clary blanked, the room suddenly chillingly quiet.

"You were pregnant?" Clary questioned, surprise blooming in her chest like a spring blossom. Isabelle nodded, more tears spilling over her doe brown eyes. "Do you know who-?"

"The father is?" Isabelle finished for her. "I think I do. But I can't be sure, it was so long ago. I didn't even notice until a few days before the raiders. But I was throwing up in the mornings, I didn't bleed for a while. I visited a wet nurse and she had me drink a tea, then spit it out. I was pregnant. I was going to be a mother." Her fingers ghosted over her stomach, a faint, sad smile gracing her lips.

"You were going to be a mother?" Clary asked, emphasizing the word 'were'. "Are you still...?" She couldn't finish her words.

Isabelle started crying again, a heavy flow of tears raining down her face. "I don't know, Clary. I don't know anything anymore. The raiders...they hit me, tortured me while you were asleep..." she shuddered, closing her eyes as if she was trying to take way her pain. "And the whole time, I was thinking that I didn't care what they did, whatever they did to me, just that as long as they didn't hurt my child, I didn't care. And then, one of them hit me, so hard in the stomach that he split the skin.

"I screamed like hell. I was terrified, so, so scared that they had killed my baby," Isabelle whispered, eyes still shut as her fingers pressed protectively against her stomach. "And I cursed them all. I had never hated anyone more in that moment, so, so much, because they had dared to threaten my baby. And I realized how much I wanted to be a mother," she sighed out, happy. "I had always thought that I was too irresponsible, too immature to handle that kind of pressure. But I want a baby."

Clary now understood why Isabelle had decided to hide herself away in her bedroom.

But it was time for her to get out now.

"You don't know that you've lost your child," Clary told her, stroking Isabelle's hair. "You can't be certain. And you have so many people who love you, Izzy. I will summon Magnus, and he'll help you, I promise. But your brother has been worried sick about you, and you need to tell him what's happened. He deserves to know."

Isabelle wiped away her tears, determination dark in her eyes. "Alright," she said, her voice much stronger than before. She turned to Clary, eyes softening. "Thank you, so much." She gathered Clary in her arms, squeezing tight.

"You will make an amazing mother, Izzy," Clary told her softly, stroking her hair.

She knew it, deep in her heart.

* * *

After comforting Isabelle and making sure that she would go talk to her brother, Clary left Isabelle's room. She felt better, much more so than before. And Isabelle, with her fierce, protective nature and kind heart, would make a fabulous mother. She hadn't wanted to push Isabelle into her thoughts about who the father was; she would when she was ready.

Wandering down the halls, Clary sighed as she felt exhaustion nag at her body. She rubbed her eyes, ready to stumble back into her room for sleep, but then she heard a slight scuffle.

Curious, she crept down the hall, stealthily peeking her head around the corner.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was Jace.

He was sharpening his sword, sitting as he used a slab of stone to strike down the length of his sword.

She hadn't seen much of him since she had returned. She had pulled away from him, drawing herself into her shell in order to cope with the incident. He was patient, though. He understood that she needed time, and space as well. She appreciated that, as well as him. He looked handsome, groomed, his muscles contracting as they scraped against his sword.

Her heart almost broke at the sight of the dark blue bags bruised under his eyes, the worry lines pressed into his forehead. He looked stressed and as if he hadn't been sleeping.

She wanted to go to him, but something in her growled as she realized he wasn't alone.

Kaelie, mostly naked, stood next to him, twirling her hair as she spoke to him in a sweet voice. Her long legs were shown in a pretty, pink dress that held a collar around her neck. Her voice was low, seductive as she smiled down at him. He wasn't exactly encouraging her, but he wasn't pushing her away either.

Anger clenched Clary's heart in a tight claw, gripping it with a heated fist.

Is this what he was doing while she was struggling?

Yes, she had pushed him away. She gritted her teeth; shaking her head, she tucked her hands under her armpits. How could one man make her doubt whether or not she was good enough?

"My Koning," she purred as she swung her barely covered breasts in front of his face. "My room is empty. I could take you back, if you wanted."

Clary's heart thumped wildly in her chest as she waited for his answer.

He looked down at Kaelie, disgust written plainly across his beautiful features. "Kaelie, I've told you countless times, I will not sleep with you. What we had was in the past. I have a wife now. Now go away before you regret it," he snarled at her, before going back to sharpening his sword.

She didn't look deterred as she twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger. "Your wife," she sneered at the word, "has gone crazy. She just sleeps all the time. She would never have to know." Her hand rested on his shoulder, nails lightly scratching the toned muscle of his skin.

Clary's heart skipped a beat. She waited with wide eyes as her husband glanced at the hand on his shoulder, eyes hard.

He shook her off roughly, mouth grim. "I don't want to tell you again, Kaelie. Fuck off or you'll see what _your_ Koning is capable of," he hissed at her, a low growl growing in his chest.

A dark shadow crossed his face, making him loo terrifying as he glared down at Kaelie, who was trembling as she swallowed, attempting to regain her facade of confidence.

But Clary glowed, something joyful in her chest purring in contentment.

"And if you ever insult my wife again, I will make sure your head hangs on the wall with the traitors," he told her darkly, sword sharp in the candlelight.

Kaelie looked humiliated, her face flushed red from embarrassment as she trotted away in a hurry.

Jace shook his head, strong forearms rested against his legs. He grabbed his sword, drawing it away into his sheath. Clary wanted to run up to him but something stopped her. She waited until he left and slumped against the wall.

She felt like a young girl, discovering her first love. Her cheeks felt flushed, her heartbeat irregular, feeling giddy and stupid.

But she shook her head.

Was it even possible that he even liked her?

She was just the girl that he had agreed married, only to benefit his people. He probably didn't feel for her as she felt for him. They were not meant for each other, coming from warring kingdoms. But, she thought, trying to cheer herself up, they had come together despite that.

At first, he was just another scarier, stronger version of Jonathon.

A patriarchal figure in her life dominating over her, both in body and mind. He was the Barbarian Lord, a ruthless leader to the Idrisian people, a wild race of people who raided villages and stole from others. They killed without mercy and broke families apart, stealing women from villages and killing their husbands, brothers and fathers.

Her feelings for her husband, at the beginning of her new journey, were of fear and bone-chilling terror. She was terrified of him, and made sure to never anger him.

But now, it had changed.

He wasn't the monster that Bryta had fervently warned her about, the beast Jonathan had gleefully described to her.

He treated her with respect.

Like she was a human being. With thoughts, opinions, desires.

More of, he protected her.

Made her feel loved.

 _Ohmygosh._

She loved him.

She knew it, from the bottom of her heart until the tips of her hairs. She had never been so certain of anything in her life.

 _But did he love her?_

* * *

She had wandered around the castle aimlessly, playing with the edges of her hair, heart torn in her conflict. She didn't know what to do. So she decided that she would sleep in her and Jace's bed, instead of in the separate room. She was tired of sleeping alone; when she woke from her nightmares, she had no one to hold, to soothe her. Her lord husband did that for her. She missed him; more than she cared to admit.

Eventually, she had ended up in front of her room. She hesitated, heart beating viciously in her chest.

What was she so afraid of?

She wasn't sure anymore. She stood, on two slightly shaky legs, trying to summon up the courage to go in.

Be strong.

Have courage.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed it open. She was immediately basked in a warm glow; the fire danced, embers bright and alive in the pit. Her eyes followed the flames as they danced in a beautiful frenzy.

"Clary?" A surprised voice, low and masculine, took her from her trance.

She turned, actions slow.

Jace.

Lying on their bed, voice husky from sleep, eyes heavy as he sat up, golden eyes making her knees feel weak. She stared back at him. Walking over, his eyes never left her's. She reached the bed, slowly lowering herself down onto the quilts. She watched him as he observed her, handsome features concerned. "Clary?" He asked again, tone rough. "You're scaring me-"

He was cut off as Clary, in a momentary spurt of braveness, leaned over and kissed him on the mouth. His lips were hard, but softened as he reached for her, muscled arms hooking under her legs as he pulled her onto his lap, mouth still hard on her's.

This kiss was hot and heavy as she bit on his lower lip, making him groan into her mouth. He traced the outline of her lips with his tongue, making a shiver of pure pleasure run down her spine. She arched her back, letting out a slight gasp, pressing her core into his heavy erection. He placed open-mouthed kisses, wet and pleasurable, along the side of her neck. She sighed, squeezing her legs together to try and relieve some of the tension from her soaking center.

As quick as a fox, he flipped them over so that his body, heavy and muscled, was pressed firmly against her own. He continued a trail of kisses and licks along the side of her neck as she bared it towards him, her breathing irregular.

Her arms went around his sides, fingers tracing the scars on his back. She marveled at the muscle there; years of sword-fighting and combat must have built this up.

Jace's hands, skilled with years of expertise, went to the back of her dress, reaching for the strings that held her clothes together. He looked down at her, eyes dark with lust. But uncertainty, something she wasn't used to with him. "Are you sure?" He asked her gruffly, warm fingers lingering on her back, his heat sending painful, pleasurable tingles down her spine.

She looked up at him, catching a glance of her own reflection in his eyes. Her red hair was splayed out, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering like gems.

She nodded quickly, looping her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth down to her's. He groaned, fingers deftly untying her dress.

It fell off easily; he spent time, agonizing time, unwrapping the silk ribbons from her breasts. She whined and bucked her hips against his, breathless as she urged him on.

He chuckled darkly, pressing a rough kiss to her neck, nipping her collarbone playfully. "Gou, vou sueni," he tells her.

 _(Soon, vou sueni)._

She waits for him as she traces the shape of his back, nimble fingers lightly scratching his muscles. Finally, he removes the silk ribbons from her breasts. He stares down at them, eyes wide and narrowed with lust. Clary found the urge to cover them up but instead held Jace's face in her hands, tracing his fine features. His hand, warm and calloused with fine, pianist fingers, rested on top of her breast, making her gasp as she arched her back, a slight moan slipping from her lips. "Jace..." she breathed, letting her arms drop to her sides.

Her nipple instantly pebbled under his touch; she shuddered violently, feeling another rush of heat flood to her core.

She wanted him.

So, very badly.

But he suddenly stopped, making Clary look up at him, confused.

Her scars.

 _Drip, drip, drip._

She shook her head, hands gripping the back of Jace's neck. "Later," she muttered to him; he looked confused, angry, furious. "Please, Jace. I need you."

He seemed reluctant to let it go, but he did and his fingers came back to life. He toyed with her nipple, playing with it between his fingers. Her heartbeat was rapidly beating in her chest, making her breathing misshapen.

He continued for a while, making her moan even more. Then, he put his mouth around it, making her shudder out his name. Her fingers went to go fist around his blonde locks, tugging on them hesitantly as he groaned into her breast. He licked, sucked and kissed up and down her breast until Clary her legs spasmed and she came, her orgasm making her swear breathlessly.

She felt him grin as he lightly bit her nipple, rolling it gently in between in teeth. He propped himself up with his elbows, kissing the slope between her breasts until he reached her bellybutton.

"Wait," she interrupted him, stopping his movements. He looked up, eyes hooded with lust. "I-I want to make you feel good," she told him shyly, looking away. A strong finger hooked her chin, forcing her to look at him.

He crawled up to her on his knees, kissing her gently on the mouth, pressing their lips together. "Alright," he told her, calloused thumb stroking the side of her face.

She reached for his drawstrings, suddenly hesitant, as she untied them.

His eyes never left her's as she did.

He reached for them, kicking them off his ankles. They were both completely naked now, his cock, thick and erect, pressed against her throbbing cunt.

"I don't know how," she muttered, biting her lip. "Show me."

It wasn't a question.

His molten gold eyes softened as he reached for her hand. She accepted and let him guide her, both their warm hands heading down in between their bodies.

Her hand touched it; sensitive, hot, throbbing skin that made Jace groan as both of them wrapped their fingers around it. She squeezed it lightly, watching for his reaction. "Oh fuck..." he moaned, breathing into her shoulder.

"What?" She asked him, concerned. "Does it hurt?"

He let out a shaky laugh, eyes closed tight as if he were in pain. "No, vou sueni. Keep going," he said, encouraging her with his own hand.

She moved her palm along his shaft, feeling it throb angrily under her catch. Jace groaned louder, biting into her shoulder. She moved her hand faster and faster as he grunted, hand leaving her own as it came to play with her breasts.

"Fuck, you're so good," he breathed out, body surrounding her, heat hot and searing against her own.

Eventually, he came, swearing as he erupted into her palm. She wiped the sticky fluid away onto the sheets. He gathered her mouth in a hot, teeth-clashing kiss that made her clench her legs again. He positioned himself over her center, cock brushing against her heated center; she whimpered at the sensation.

He looked her square in the eyes. "Are you sure?" He asked her, the question making her still in his arms.

She pressed her lips to his, but held his arms for a second. "Wait...I need to tell you something," she said to him, voice clear as she looked up at him from under her eyelashes.

His fingers brushed the hairs away from her slightly sweaty face. "What?" He growled playfully at her, fingers playing coyly with her nipple.

She took a deep breath, summoning up her courage. "Ek het jou lief," she told him in Idrisian, words quiet as she waited for his reaction.

 _(I love you)._

He froze, all movements stilled. Stunned, he stared down at her, lips parted in apparent shock. He didn't move, he said nothing, he didn't even blink as he gazed down at her, expression blank; his eyes gave absolutely nothing away.

For a moment, Clary could hear her heart slowly breaking as he did nothing.

It thudded painfully in her chest.

He didn't love her back.

Was it only ever the sex for him?

She blinked, forcing the tears back, attempting to hold them at bay. She suddenly felt ridiculous, completely naked, her cheeks flushed, the words that had slipped from her mouth. She wanted to leave, suddenly, more than anything. But his body trapped her's, covering her completely like a heated quilt.

She ducked her head to the side, unable to look at him anymore.

That was until his hand rested against her cheek. It guided her face until she turned her head and she met Jace's gaze. "To you," he murmured, kissing her mouth with a rough, violent passion. "The one person I love more than anything."

Her heart swelled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him in as she kissed him fiercely. Something like a mixture of desire, love and passion grew in her heart, making her feel light-headed.

He loved her back.

 _More than anything._

He adjusted them again so that her knees were bent forward, legs on either side of his body. He kissed the side of her neck, slowly, sensuously, as she moaned his name. "Is jy reg vir ny, vou sueni?" He growled into her neck, biting and sucking while she quivered under his touch.

 _(Are you ready for me?)_

She nodded, grinding their hips together to encourage him. "Please, Jace, please," she whispered to him. "I need you."

He chuckled darkly, fingers running teasingly up and down the sides of her hips. Then he became serious as he looked down at her. "It will hurt, vou sueni. A lot," he warned her, grip protective on her body.

Isabelle and countless others, including even Jonathon himself, had commented on the pain of a virgin's first time. But she nodded her head once again. "I know," she told him, trying to sound brave. "But I can bear it."

He kissed her slightly sweaty forehead. "Brave, as you always are," he said to her, pride simmering in his golden eyes. She smiled shyly up at him; his smile, beautiful, one that went from one side of his face to the other. But it slowly dropped as he regarded another matter. "It's not my first time," he told her, tracing the side of her face.

She nodded. She had known for a while and she hadn't expected him to be before he'd even met him. "I know," she scowled up at him, despite herself.

He shook his head. "Don't be jealous. They meant nothing to me. You," he said softly to her, tugging on one of her curls, "are the only woman I've ever wanted. When I first saw you, I wanted you so badly. Fuck you so hard you couldn't walk straight on all four's, like an animal.." He shuddered, palming her breast.

"You did?" Clary said in surprise, trying to suppress a moan as he played with her pebbled nipple.

He nodded. "I have wanted you from the moment I saw you, but I've loved you since the farm." Clary remembered the time at Helen's farm, where he had stood up for her friend, and used his power to take down the terrible owner.

"I saw your determination, vou sueni. And your strength that day," he told her. "And I've fucked countless girls, but I have never made love to any of them. Nor have I ever loved someone as I love you."

Clary glanced up at him, kissing him lightly on his mouth. She wrapped her ankles around his waist, lightly grounding her center onto his member. He groaned, biting down onto her collarbones. "I'm ready," she told him.

He positioned himself directly in front of her. His eyes met her's, asking a silent question. She nodded, hands wrapping themselves around his tight biceps.

He pushed himself in; he grunted at her wet tightness. Clary gasped; it felt amazing as her cunt strangled his cock in it's velvety hold. He was very, very big and it took most of his strength in order to push into her throbbing core. "Clary..." he hissed through gritted teeth. "Fuck..." he groaned.

She cried out as he broke through her, a sharp pain throbbing in her core. A tear slipped out of her eye and rolled down her cheek. Jace kissed it and soothed her gently. "It'll be over soon, I promise. It will feel good eventually."

Soon, he was completely inside her.

He thrust out, cock scraping her walls in half-pleasurable, half-painful movements. She braced herself as he pushed himself in again; this time, it was less painful. He filled her up completely, in a way that made Clary feel whole.

His thrusts became more faster as he snapped his hips backwards and forwards; it became less painful and Clary found herself moaning as it became increasingly pleasurable.

"Jace..." she breathed out as her breasts moved with his thrusts. She was sweating, drops of perspiration sliding down her forehead. Jace himself was starting to form sweat along his body.

He grunted as he pumped his cock in and out of her cunt, his fingers bruising Clary's arms and waist as he held her down. But she liked the pain, enjoyed the pleasure it brought her.

Jace knew it too.

She could feel herself reaching her climax as he pounded into her, legs apart as she whispered his name in broken hushes. It became unbearable as she felt her core getting hotter and hotter until she couldn't stand it anymore.

Jace grinned at her, urging her on. "Come, vou sueni. Come for me," he encouraged her, fingers reaching in between their bodies to rub her clit, tipping her over the edge.

Her body spasmed as she gasped violently, and came all over Jace's cock, his body slick with sweat. "Jace!" She screamed his name, moaning like an animal in heat. She slumped back, breathing hard as Jace came as well, grunting her name as he collapsed on top of her, the heat of his body nearly unbearable.

For a few moments, he lay on top of her, both of their breathing uneven as they tried to catch their breath. Eventually, he slid off her sweaty body, lying down next to her. He pulled her over so that she was over his arm, her head resting on his chest.

He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, arm resting on her shoulder. "I knew you would be a fucking vixen in bed, vou sueni," he told her breathlessly.

She laughed, turning her face so that she could see his own. His eyes softened and he traced the outline of his lips, smiling dazedly at him.

She felt happy.

So, so happy.

And she knew that Jace was as well as they fell asleep in each other's arms, both of them wrapped tight around each other, content as they basked in their combined warmth.

* * *

 **Did you like it? If you did, let me know in the comments.**

 **Anyways...didn't you just love how he said I love you! She said it in Idrisian, him in English. Here's another version of how he might have said it:**

That was until his hand rested against her cheek. It guided her face until she turned her head and she met Jace's gaze. "To you," he murmured, kissing her mouth with a rough, violent passion. "The only person I will ever love."

 **Which did you prefer?**

 **Anyways, please review! I promise I'll try and get another chpater updated.**

 **But I will probably go over the entire story and change it so it fits my view.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	22. Chapter 22 (Happy Tidings, My Friend)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 22. Happy Tidings, My Friend**

 **HI GUYS! Sorry I've been inactive for so long, it's just been so hectic in my life. I have all this other stuff going on and it's hard to keep updating. But I'm back, and I'll keep posting new chapters soon, I swear it. I have a lot of free time now, I can do as much as you like.**

 **OVER 600 REVIEWS! WHAT?! THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH! All of you reviews make me so happy, and they bring joy into my world. Cheesy, but whatever. Please keep reviewing and reading, I promise I'll update soon!**

 **Anyways, it's heating up and it's getting more exciting, I'm so ready to write a shitload. Please be prepared for more chapters, Clace and lemons(!)**

 **Yay!**

 **...**

 **Alright, now I've updated Chapter 2 and 3.**

 **THE STORY LINE IS CHANGING SLIGHTLY.**

 **DO NOT BE ALARMED.**

 **Please check it out, let me know what you think.**

 **...**

 **I hope you like this chapter, please let me know in the reviews.**

 **THANK YOU!**

* * *

 **Chapter 22.**

 **-Clary-**

The ground beneath him was soft and brittle, bought weak beneath the long days of the summer sun. The dirt crumbled in the grip of his fingers, and he watched it fly away in the slight brush of the wind. It sprung through the air, before abruptly dropping to the ground as the wind waned. The flowerbeds were ripe and pruned of beautiful, summer flowers blossomed in the heat. The man was patient, of course, but it would not hold forever.

Nothing ever did, that much he was certain of.

Civilizations brought down by age, grand kings weakened by the long and weary days, once grand palaces thrown to it's knees, made feeble by time. He had read about all of them; however, he knew he was smarter, cleverer and he understood his enemies.

And how to bring about their destruction.

The night was dark before him, only the barest of light emitting from the silvery glow of the full moon that shone before them. He stood on the balcony of the highest room, the curtains behind him billowing in the coarse wind of the summer breeze. But, the summer would not lost forever; the philosophers had promised a cold and hard winter.

And that would be when the people were at their weakest.

The crops would shrivel and die in the absence of heat. The people would huddle together. Kings would forget their duties and hoard the food for themselves.

His hands were rested on the bar before him. Regal robes of purple finesse were draped along the length of his broad shoulders; the clasps dug into his collarbones; the man expected blood to be drawn, but the pain was nothing.

Nothing compared to what he would gain.

The city beneath him gleamed and the man knew he heard the faint noises of the townfolk; shouts and laughter emitted from the bustling streets as music rang through the houses. Occasionally, bursts of cheers and thanks emitted from the crowds of people, but the man paid them no heed.

 _Let them celebrate_ , the man thought dryly. _Let them cheer while they can._

Such dark thoughts lingered in his mind, he mused. It wasn't entirely his fault. The world had made him so.

It had been the world that made him who he was today; what he had done, what he was planning to do.

Something he had planned for quite a while now.

And he was determined to not let it slip through the barest of his fingers. He was all so close; most aspects of his plan had already been put into place. Now the pieces of the puzzle needed to fit together, and everything he had worked so hard for would finally be his.

It was not simply just power or revenge or greed that drove him to this; but, an entire combination of the three. He would take back what was his, what had belonged to him, what was his birthright.

He gripped the bar more tightly; he gritted his teeth. He would have to calm himself. It was much rather his temper which more often than not led to him making mistakes.

"Your Grace?" A timid voice, female and laced with all the tidings of a nervous maiden, broke through his reverie. He turned, coming face to face with a light-haired serving girl of perhaps sixteen. She looked flustered when he titled his head at her. He found that he did have a rather profound affect on most females. "He's arrived."

A smile, dark as the night, flitted across his lips. He clasped his hands together, feeling triumphant. "Excellent. Show him to the hall. The King of the West awaits."

From far, far away, a crow squawked in warning as the sun set into the earth.

* * *

Sweat trickling down the slopes of her cheeks, Clary gasped in total euphoria as her husband's fingers moved expertly inside of her, triggering all sorts of desires and feelings she never even knew she had. Jace's fingers, long and hard and deft, slowly pumped in and out of her, the other hand knotted tightly in her hair. Her arms were rested against the broad expanse of his chest, tracing the hard muscles that worked under his skin. She sat on his lap, bodies flush, his lips tracing the side of her neck.

She was in pleasure, pure pleasure as Jace made love to her.

Something she found she liked very much.

They were atop their bed, furs and sheets surrounding them as they enjoyed their newfound love for each other. Limbs and arms and bodies were all tangled together as they relished in the heat of each other.

He loved her.

As he told her every night.

And she loved him.

As she whispered to him when the sun set and the moon would come out.

She was so much happier now. More so than she had ever been in her life.

Clary's release eventually came as her body spasmed and she cried out, clutching Jace to her. She shuddered, seeing stars and moons and all things magical; she eventually came back down, only to see a pair of beautiful, familiar golden eyes that made her heart ache and her body cry out for him.

He settled her back down so that their bodies lay on the bed, her head propped up on his chest, her leg curled over his own. He traced blind patterns across the pale planes of her collarbones, long fingers slowing caressing her skin. She put her face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the spicy, rich scent of pine and firewood and all things that were her Jace. Her hair, gleaming ruby red in the soft candlelight, spilt across the broad set of his shoulders.

They lay, panting, still quite blown away. "You," he whispered to her, "are fantastic."

She brushed her fingers across the length of his cock, feeling it harden in her hand. He groaned, biting at her ear as she laughed, playing with him.

"And you're not terrible either," she told him, a smile brushed across her lips.

He shook his head, making an indignant noise. "Many women have commented on my expertise in bed," he teased her. Clary raised an eyebrow as she slipped her hand underneath the sheet.

"Fuck," he groaned, as Clary pumped him harder and harder. She smirked, feeling quite vivacious as she jerked her hand back and forward. He eventually came into her hand; she wiped the sticky fluid onto a piece of cloth. "Mmm..." Jace said, nipping at her breast.

She laughed as she settled back down beside him as she pillowed her head onto his arm.

The past few days had been amazing; they had spent it fucking like a pair of rabbits, exploring each other's bodies in a sort of frenzy that Clary herself could not even manage to explain. He had unlocked desires in her that left her feeling dazed and speechless; she, too, became more confident in her body and relished in the animalistic lust they held for each other.

Her body was completely satisfied, but she still hungered for more.

And they had all the time in the world to be together. For as long as they liked.

He pressed a chaste kiss on her temple; pulling her closer still to his body. His fingers dropped from her collarbone to her waist, where they skimmed up and down the curve of her hips. She stiffened slightly as he traced over a scar, long healed. She knew he had felt her stiffen; he was trained to notice anything out of the ordinary.

A silence pressed down upon them; Clary shifted under the tense atmosphere, breathing suddenly too loud in her ears. "Sivamet," he murmured into the side of her hair, calloused fingers stroking her body with light affection.

"Yes, nyu vou sunei?" She whispered softly; her voice sounded hoarse in her ears.

He didn't say anything; but really, Clary felt as if he didn't need to. His fingers suddenly stopped, resting upon a particularly large scar of her's.

Clary felt blank, devoid of all movement as her head prickled with pain. "I can't," she told him in an anguished whisper.

He resumed his tracing, making a thousand pinpricks of ice and heat flare up along the bare of her skin. "Asseblief," he asked her, voice slightly husky.

 _(Please)._

She looked at him from where she lay, on his arm, their naked bodies fitted perfectly together. His face, hard and chiselled, looked upwards, the perfect profile of his face illuminated by the soft flickering of the candles that surrounded their bed. The man she loved more than anyone else in the world, holding her in his arms, holding her like she was porcelain, but stronger than steel.

And then, something cold touched the base of her neck, nearly making her gasp.

It was her mother's necklace.

The symbol of House Fairchild gleamed on her chest, a proud phoenix carved into the piece of metal, it's wings spread in a blaze of glory.

 _With fire, with steel, with might, we ride through the storm._

She had to be brave, like her mother.

And strong, like her father.

And good and true and noble as all the Fairchilds before her had been.

She gripped Jace tightly, feeling quite light-headed. "It was him. My brother," she said to him so quietly like she was certain he couldn't hear.

"Jonathon," Jace said softly, but it sounded harsh and angry. He held her tighter, so much so that Clary knew it would leave marks, but Clary was quite glad for the comfort. Her breathing was quite heavy now and it came out in harsh rasps. But Jace deserved to know the truth. After all they had been through together, she as certain he needed to know.

And so she told him everything.

From beginning to end.

Until the candles had dimmed to an extent where the only light came from the fury in her husband's eyes. Until her voice was scraped raw from the blind emotion that choked her, and what seemed like the endless hours of talking. He said nothing, but a muscle worked in his jaw and Clary had never seen him more angry than he was now. His nostrils were flared, and his teeth were clenched together, eyes narrowed.

At the end, she lapsed into silence, quite unsure of what to say.

Jace breathed in sharply.

"Nyu vou sueni?" She asked hesitantly, trembling hand going up to cusp the side of his face.

He sat up; Clary's hand fell limply to her side. She hurried up so that she was on her knees, facing Jace. She eyed him warily, inching closer. "Jace-?"

She let out an indignant noise of surprise as he grabbed her face, eyes ablaze; she looked into the bright, feverish gold of his eyes.

"I will kill him," he snarled, pulling her towards him. "I will kill him for you, and what he did to you." She felt a tirade of tears surge inside her, overcome with the fury in Jace's voice, fury on her behalf. That someone had hurt her like that.

She kissed him fiercely, unable to form any words, his mouth hard on her's as she pushed him down onto the bed, bodies pulled flat against each other. _I love you_ , she wrapped her arms around him. _I love you_ , she kissed him even harder, teeth toying with his lower lip as he groaned into her mouth.

And when he finally entered her, filling her up almost completely, she screamed it out loud, not even caring anymore.

* * *

The morning was harsh with the summer sun; it was unbearably hot, and Clary felt sweat gather from every pore on her body. She scowled at the sun, which shone brightly down on her, mocking the shriveled flowers and the bone-dry land. She sat near the stream, where occasionally flecks of water would splash out and trickle down her leg.

Wiping sweat from her forehead, Clary picked up the basket she was weaving and started again. Weaving baskets was sort of a tradition amongst Idrisian women; mothers passed their knowledge down onto their daughters. Clary was quite awful, but Isabelle was fantastic, so it balanced out alright.

It was a hard and menial task, but Clary was glad for the distraction. A raven had come for the Koning had come in the morning; needless to say, Clary was not thrilled.

A small noise came from the girl next to her. "There!" Isabelle exclaimed, flourishing her basket. "Finished."

Isabelle, now fully recovered from the raider incident, was sitting beside in a lovely, silk dress that had been a gift from her brother from a nearby village. Her long legs were crossed over each other, the water from the stream.

Though it was hard to make out any serious signs of Isabelle's pregnancy, there was a certain glow about her that Bryta had explained as the 'Mother's Glow'. While she looked like a goddess most of the time, with flawless clear skin and a figure that was the apparent fantasy of many a men, pregnancy had made her simply radiant. Her hair seemed to emit a shiny glow that made her skin shimmer and her dark eyes glow bright. Even Alec and Jace had noticed, but didn't investigate too closely.

And if you looked well enough, you could make out a slight bump in her stomach.

Her best friend was clearly thrilled to be having a baby. She prattled on about names and the like, clearly exhilarated about her pregnancy. And Clary was happy for her as well; it was nice to see Isabelle so cheerful. "I want a little girl," she had told Clary, whilst they were out in the fields, going to visit Helen, who was doing excellently and was much healthier. "A sweet, strong little girl."

All this talk about children and babies made Clary wonder, think about her own future regarding children. Or, more specifically, her _own_ children.

But she hadn't dared bring it up with Jace, not yet anyway, with everything else that was going on. Did he even want children? She didn't even know if she wanted them herself. Could she possibly bring up a child when she herself was most likely incapable of raising a person into this world?

Her own experience with her mother had been sad and very brief; so much that she couldn't even remember her. How could she even possibly think to raise a child when she herself had never even had a mother.

No, she thought firmly, she had had her father. A kind and good man who had brought her up with all the morals and virtues that she still believed in today. And Bryta had been like a second mother to her; she may as well be her parental figure, as she had raised her as her own.

"Clary?" Isabelle's voice brought her back from her thoughts. "What do you think?"

"Hmm?" She murmured, looking up.

"For a girl's name. I was thinking Alycera. It's such a pretty name, don't you think?" Isabelle asked happily, starting on her second basket.

"Yes. Yes, it's lovely." Clary attempted another smile. It was another name in a long line of them; names that meant strength, beauty, pride.

All qualities that Isabelle was determined to instill in her daughter.

Isabelle looked over, face disapproving. "You're doing it wrong. Look, your basket pattern looks awful. Here, give it to me," she said in a rather bossy voice. Clary sighed, resigned, before handing over her poorly made basket to the dark-haired girl.

They sat in silence for a while, Isabelle expertly re-doing the weaving of Clary's basket, Clary splashing her bare feet in the water. She saw a couple of fish shimmy past her; she smiled dazedly as the water spotted her dress. The water was lovely against her skin; the sun seemed to dim in comparison. "So," Isabelle said in a determined voice. "What message did the raven send?"

Clary looked down at the rushing water that nearly swept her legs away; the current was strong, powerful as it ran over her body. "It was from my brother," Clary said in a small voice. "It's nearing an anniversary of the treaty, and it's tradition to host the other party. And there's a king, another one in the West, of a rather small island, who's attending as well. He wishes to make a deal with the Koning, to exercise land rights over the fields of the Polivan."

"When are they expected to arrive?" Isabelle inquired as she finished over the last few strands of Clary's basket.

"In a fortnight. Maybe less. It depends on how the weather is, I suppose. But they will definitely arrive before the month ends," Clary said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. Isabelle sent her a sort of sympathetic grimace as she handed Clary back her basket. "Thanks," she added as she admired the perfect structure of the woven basket, Isabelle's skill evident through the closely wound strands. "What do you know of this Western King?" She asked Isabelle.

The dark-haired girl shrugged her dainty shoulders. "Not too much. Apparently, he's the ruler of a small island. Not many resources or stock. That's why he's so eager to expand his rule. He has a Western name, something beginning with 'S', I'm pretty sure."

Clary contemplate this, frowning. It really wasn't much at all. They lapsed into a comfortable silence; Clary was nearly falling asleep when Isabelle put her basket down, looking conflicted.

"What's wrong Izzy?" Clary asked, feeling concerned yet wary. Isabelle had been prone to quite a few emotuonal outburts over the past few weeks; Clary, though she could be patient, was not alll together alright with the tantrums, tears and anger fits which she now associated with her best friend.

"I want to tell Alec," Isabelle said suddenly, not looking at Clary. "I feel awful for not telling him yet, but I don't know how."

"That's good. He'll know soon enough anyway," Clary encouraged, smiling at her.

"Yes, he'd have to be quite dull to not notice a great lump sticking out from under my dress," Isabelle smiled, laughing a bit. "But," she sobered slightly. "I know I'll tell him soon enough."

Clary smiled at her. "Alec will understand. He loves you and he'll support you and the baby, no matter what. But," Clary said hesitantly, "you should also tell Jace. He's like a brother to you." Isabelle nodded, but still looked doubtful.

There was a tinkling of laughter and a flock of children ran down the hills, sprinting towards the water. They were all Idrisian children, the oldest maybe eleven, and the youngest five or four. Diving into the water, they splashed around, shrieking and laughing as skinning limbs and rosy-cheeks were thrown around.

Clary and Isabelle watched them, smiling as they sat in the heated sun, enjoying the cool stream as it brushed over their legs, chasing the heat from their bodies.

* * *

 **Well? What do you think? Please review and keep an eye out for the next chapter.**

 **Thank you!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	23. Chapter 23 (Return of Thy Sweet Brother)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 23. Return of Thy Sweet Brother**

 **Hiya guys! Here's an update! To the Guest who's birthday it was, happy belated birthday. Yay! Here's a chapter just for you. Now, it's not anything exciting, but I hope you like. Warning; lemon, major lemon in this chapter.**

 **And we have a special guest later on. Please enjoy!**

 **Continue reading and reviewing, I love you all so much. Your opinions and comments make my day, honestly.**

 **Things will start heating up in the next few chapter...and possibly a Clace fetus? Maybe, maybe, maybe.**

 **Anyway, keep posted!**

* * *

 **Chapter 23.**

 **-Clary-**

"Jace, please," Clary begged, feeling exasperated as her husband paced their bedroom floor. She lay in their bed, wrapped in quilts as he scowled at her, wearing nothing but his nightclothes. They had been at this conversation for a while now, and Clary was quite ready to go to sleep.

"No," he said stubbornly, crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles rippling. She sighed, getting to her feet and walking over to him.

They had had this conversation about what seemed like a thousand times, and not once had she gotten Jace to see her side.

Yes, she loved him beyond words, but he was as stubborn as she was.

"You cannot kill your guests, Jace. It goes against basic etiquette," she said gently, rubbing his arm, slender fingers pale against the bronzed complexion of her husband. "And if you kill Jonathon when he gets here, his men will retaliate. You cannot risk the lives of your men simply for this."

He gave her an imploring look, before turning to face her. He wound his arms around her, stroking the side of her face with his thumb. "I would risk everything for you," he told her seriously, face grave. She smiled softly at him as he kissed her forehead, resting her head on his chest. "He deserves death, and more. And I'll give it to him. He'll die in front of you, screaming for his death," he swore to her.

Clary was at her breaking point. "Please, don't. I'm begging you. Do it for me, nyu vou sueni."

He looked simply furious at her request. "Sivamet, what he's done is unforgivable. I can see it on your body, but also in your heart. When I would touch you, you flinch. I told you I would kill him if I ever saw him again."

"Think with your head," Clary urged, taking his head into her hands. "Not your heart. It's only for a few days. Please, please, don't do anything stupid. If I know my brother, he'll retaliate in a way that will endanger your live and everyone elses's. You don't understand how Southern's work; their men fight dirty, they don't fight with honor."

He looked down at her; he shook his head, looking conflicted. Clary let out a disgruntled noise, rubbing at her eyes.

"One week, even less, and he'll be out of our lives forever. Just don't speak to him unless you absolutely have to. Do you understand?" Clary demanded, narrowing her eyes at him. She absolutely refused to let him risk his life for her, especially knowing Jonathon's temper. "Do you?" She asked him again, voice raised.

He let out a grumble, wrenching away from her. Huffing, he fell onto the bed, looking rather furious. "Please," she whispered to him, slowly making her way over to him. She climbed onto his lap, resting her forehead onto his, feeling close to tears. "Please," she said again, voice breaking.

He sighed, wrapping his strong arms around her waist. "Alright," he relented; Clary grinned, kissing him hard on the mouth. "But," he added, face solemn, "if he touches you, I'll cut off his hands."

Clary sighed as she pulled him in; she could never truly tame him.

No one would really be able to.

* * *

Grinning mischievously, Clary turned back to face her husband as he urged her along, strong hands on her waist. "Where are you taking me?" She asked him, as he tugged at her more insistently. When he didn't answer, she looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Jace?" She nudged him. "Where are we going?"

He shook his head, golden curls bouncing around his head. "Wait," he told her. She sighed, but really, she was quite excited. Ever since he had told her he was taking her some place in the morning, she had been waiting nervously. They had taken Callisto and Arnoi with them, tying them up in the moors a little walk back. Now, they were stumbling along a secret path, surrounded by bushes and shrubbery, to Jace's secret destination.

"Are we nearly there-?" Her words faltered as they pushed past a large clump of bushes and into a clearing.

It was the place that Jace had taken her to before; when they had first wed, and she had named her white Callisto. The waterfall, thick and plentiful, thundered down into the small lake below. Flowers bloomed in the thick tresses of the field of green grass, colors of blue and pale-pink and bright yellow.

They were completely hidden from the world, the large bushes obscuring them from wandering eyes.

Clary let out a breathless laugh as she drew in the sweet smell of summer air. Arms lifted her up and spun her around like she was nothing but a bag of feathers. Jace met her eyes, setting her down. "What do you think?" He asked her, grinning; Clary couldn't be sure, but she thought he sounded slightly sheepish.

"It's amazing," Clary exclaimed, giving him a brief kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Shall we go for a swim?" She asked him.

He chuckled, dark and low, into her ears, before kissing her temple. Really, there was a sweet side to him. A side that only she had seen. "Sure, sivamet," he told her.

She stepped forward, breathing in the sweet smell of the summer air. It was just as she had remembered. She closed her eyes, a slint of a memory appearing before her eyes.

A scary, very naked Jace, walking into the water, back strong and muscled, glistening as he stepped into the water.

Then, something dark and devilish grew in her chest.

She glanced back at her husband, who seemed to notice the slight shift in the air. It was no longer just the sweet smell of the flowers anymore.

Clary smiled slyly at him, stalking towards the water.

Slowly, she rid her body of clothes, throwing off her vest and furs, the cool air hardening her nipples. Something hard and devilish awoke in the gold of Jace's eyes, making them dark and predatory. She smiled at him, before lightly trailing into the water. It was pleasantly cool against her skin, the hot summer sun hot on her back. The water, chilly and clear beneath her breasts, splashed around her as she ducked her head underwater. She came back up for air, slightly breathless as she blinked.

She tilted her head to the side, smiling at her husband who watched her, something of a dangerous smirk on his face.

Turning, she made a dive for the waterfall, disappearing beneath it's thundering waves, pushing upwards; she broke through to the cave that Jace had brought her to so many months ago.

When she had been scared to even touch him.

Frightened of her own reflection.

But it had all changed now, for the better.

Strong hands, calloused and grown hardened with the long days of battle, suddenly gripped her waist, making her inhale sharply. "Jy moet beter weet as om my te sis, Sivamet," he whispered gruffly in her ear; she felt excitement tingle in the pit of her stomach, making her thighs press together in anticipation.

She turned around, feeling slightly breathless as she came, face to face with her husband, lips brushing only just. Looping her arms around his neck, she ran her nose up and down his cheek, feeling his breath hitch as his arms tightened around her waist. His cock grew hard against her thigh and she felt heat pooling in between her legs.

It was then that a dam broke, and she kissed him hard and long, jumping up and locking her ankles around his waist.

His tongue traced the outline of her lips, making her gaps and moan and do all those wonderful things. She ground her hips into him, which he groaned at and playfully bit her lower lip.

She squealed as he suddenly hauled her up, arms carrying her to the bank of the cave they were in. He set her down onto the soft planes of the sand, panting slightly as he observed her with bright eyes, looking almost feverish.

Clary pulled him close to her, feeling eve hard muscle and limb of his as she kissed him like she never would again. "Please," she mumbled against his lips, feeling desperate. "Fuck me." She drew her legs up so that her knees were on either side of Jace. She was dripping wet, flushed, breathless and felt more aroused than any given moment of her life.

He shifted his position so that his cock rested directly in between her legs, making her squirm in hunger and lust.

And when he finally pushed himself into her, they both sighed in relief.

His pace was slow and agonizing; long strokes that made her tingle and her cunt weep with lust. She shivered under his hard, lean body, tracing the muscles on his back. "Harder," she whined breathlessly, pushing herself upwards to meet his thrust. "Harder, please."

He chuckled, slightly out of breath, bucking his hips forward. "Nyu Sivamet, your insatiable," he whispered in her ear, voice husky.

Lips pressed hard and rough against the bare skin of her neck; she tilted her head sideways so that she bore her neck to him. He bit, licked and nibbled at the skin, making her shake and gasp beneath him.

His thrusts became faster and more aggressive as he rammed himself into her as her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she shuddered in pleasure. Her walls were twitching, unable to handle the physical, sweet pain.

Then, Jace flipped them over so that he lay on his back, hands gripping her waist almost painfully. Clary sat atop him, his hard cock buried deep within her, a little unsure. He caught her eye and grinned reassuringly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips. "It's alright, nyu Sivamet," he murmured to all, tracing the outline of her hipbones.

She moved a little, still feeling uncertain. But when Jace unexpectedly let out a groan, she moved forward with a little more confidence, hips moving over his own, wincing at the new position. But as she adjusted to his size, she bounced faster and faster, biting her lip to try and hold her screams. Her small breasts with her, as Jace stroked a nipple.

He seemed to sense her repression and shook his head, holding her hips with bruising pressure. "I want to hear your screams," he told her; abruptly, she was brought back under his body as he readjusted his position, before thrusting back into her.

Clary let out a noise that surprised her; something animalistic and high-pitched, something that made Jace's eyes gleam with hunger.

Something small and glowing caught her eye.

A gasp caught in her throat as she stared at it, caught off guard.

It was a firefly.

The creatures Jace had shown her the very first time they had visited this cave.

Then, more of them appeared, a frenzy of light sprinkling across the walls and low ceilings of the dark, dry conclaves. Soon enough, the entire area was covered in tiny, brilliant little fireflies, shimmering like the sun.

And as she found her release, she cried out, staring starstruck at the glowing fireflies as the love of her life whispered meaningless, beautiful things into her ear.

* * *

Drums were beaten furiously, the sound thrumming deep in Clary's chest. The Idrisian people were gathered around the grounds, decorating the trees and the stands with their traditional display of scenery. The women danced, the men clapping their hands, the children laughing with joy.

Clary watched them, dressed in traditional Koningin's clothing, paint drawn across the planes of her cheeks, jewellery wore rich around her arms and neck. She was seated atop a chair created out of twine, braided in a intricate manner. Her husband and herself were on a platform in a clearing, neither of the pair speaking much at all.

And she was anything but joyous.

Her husband, who stood stoically beside her, was all but happy as well.

Dressed in fine, animal furs with black paint drawn in plenty over the curves of his shoulders, hair braided back, eyes lined in dark chalk, he looked strong and fierce. A muscle worked in his jaw, and his ombre eyes flashed with barely repressed rage.

She touched his hand, barely just, but he felt it. He looked at her, expression stoic, but she smiled softly at him. His face softened and he nodded at her, fingers brushing her own.

A horn, loud and as deafening as it had been at Olyeran's, sounded. Clary took a deep breath, eyes closed, heart pounding viciously in her chest.

 _Have courage, even in the face of adversity._

It had been what Bryta had told her so many years ago, after the death of her father, after everything other horrible thing she had been through.

She exhaled, something fierce growing within her, and her eyes snapped open.

It was the greeting ceremony for the first official greeting of the three allies. The Barbarian Koning, the King of Alicante and the Eastern rulers that roamed bare lands, hungry for more power. Idris was about to play host for two other nations, whilst providing food and shelter for their guests.

Which of course meant that Jonathon would be here.

Something black and dreaded rose in the pit of Clary's stomach, snarling and snapping it's huge jaws.

Alec, who was standing solidly beside them, glanced at the pair of them, sensing the thick air of tension that engulfed the two like a heavy morning mist. But he didn't comment and instead chose to scowl at the ground.

Things had not improved between the two; what, with Clary married to the man he loved, and her undeniable awkwardness when they were in the same room. However, she had come to respect his proud nature and his sweet over protectiveness of his younger sister and he her strength when she had released them women from their chains.

But still, he hated her.

And Clary, though not at peace with that, was able to deal with that.

Carriages and trails began to trickle into the clearing. The Idrisian people stopped what they were doing and watched in fascination, and caution, as the pale-skins emerged from the carriages, blinking in surprise as they observed the Idrisians with equal fascination. Clary recognized a few from her time at Alicante; a few knights, some swordsmen, members of her brothers hearth.

But they were not the man she was looking for.

None of them were.

Clary searched for him, eyes quickly flitting from one man to another, pulse flickering dully. Her teeth ground together, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms.

Where was he?

She then spotted Heath, who was wearing similar clothes to when she last saw him. He was the man who was kind enough to give her food on her wedding day; a gesture which had brought her a little comfort in that dark time.

He caught her eye and she nodded to him; his dark eyes glinted and he bowed a little.

It was then that the largest carriage of them all appeared; a royal one, painted to a creamy white, decorated with intricate blue and outlined with a bright gold. The Morgenstern house symbol was painted boldly across the flags that flapped in the wind. A young squire sprang to his feet as the carriage halted to a stop, rushing over to hastily yank the door open. Clary squirmed to see what, or rather who, was inside.

But her head knew the answer.

Clary's breathing become quick and uneven as she spotted a thick brush of pale blonde hair that was as glossy and plentiful than the last time she had seen him.

 _Jonathon._

And indeed, her older brother stepped out of the carriage, skin flushed from the summer sun, dressed in noble clothes of purple, trimmed with a dark golden color. Clary stared at him, eyes wide as she took in her older brother.

In the months she hadn't seen him, he hadn't changed in the slightest.

Though, she noticed, as he brushed his robes, that his cheeks looked a little more sunken in, his hair grown long so that it just brushed his collarbones. However, Clary thought it made him look even more handsome than before, giving him a slightly more haunted look.

"M-my lords and ladies o-of the Idris," the squire stammered, sweating visbibly through his clothes. "I-I present to you, King Jonathon of House Morgenstern, Ruler of Alicante and First of His Name."

His green eyes, as vivid as ever in Clary's unpleasant memories of him, skimmed over the pavilion. They finally rested on her, making her freeze where she sat.

A mocking smirk passed his lips.

He tilted his head, white-blonde hair splaying to the side. He turned , slowly starting to approach her.

A low growl resounded from the man next to her; Clary turned to Jace, who was looking thunderous. "Please, vou sunei," she muttered under her breath. "You promised."

He looked mutinous; Clary gave him a pleading look. Sighing, he sat back resigned.

The Idrisians parted for Jonathon, as if wary of his noble clothes and the natural aura of power and danger that he emitted. The crowd grew quiet as they watched him approach. Maiea and Jordaan, who were standing dutifully beside her, Maiena in a lovely blue leather dress and Jordaan in the standard Idrisian clothing, shifted beside her.

Jonathon swaggered up to them, eyes never straying from Clary. He nodded respectfully at Jace, who had his jaw clenched. Her brother reached the podium, pausing, before smiling at the young red-head who watched him with wary eyes.

"Little sister," he breathed, looking triumphant.

* * *

 **What do you think? Please review and tell me what you think!**

 **Jono came back to us! Bleh...**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	24. Chapter 24 (The Men Will Scream)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 24. The Men Will Scream**

 **Hi guys! Here's another update! I'm so sorry for the delay, I had a scooch of writer's block and I couldn't come up with anything, but here I am so yay! Alright, so this chapter will feature both Jonathon and Sebastian, and I hope you like it.**

 **There will be more badass Clary scenes, and we'll have a special guest pop in later on, so look forward to it! Your reviews made my day, as usual, and I always look forward to reading them. The story's advancing and there's more to be uncovered, so keep reading. There will some information later on, so keep your eyes peeled.**

 **I'll try updating more as the time passes, but it might be a bit difficult, because I'm going on holiday soon, but I hope there will be wifi where I'm going. I'll keep you notified, but if I can't, then I'm really sorry. The next chapters might hint at a Clace baby, but I'm still kind of figuring that bit out.**

 **I might update some of the earlier chapters to help the story from 2 and 3, so look out for those as well. It'll change a bit, but not too much, hopefully.**

 **There's a Dany quote somewhere in the last bit, so keep a look out for that. I really loved writing this, I was looking forward to it for a long, long time!**

 **As usual, please enjoy and I look forward to your reviews!**

 **Thank you xx**

* * *

 **Chapter 24**

 **-Clary-**

The crowded halls of the palace were alive with laughter and music; guests and hosts alike mingled and broke bread together, enjoying the abundance of food that stacked the sturdy tables. Traditional Idrisian decorations were strung up around the strong walls, giving the room a more festive feel. Servants and maids rushed from person to person, each eagerly offering up a morsel or drink to their esteemed guests. It was indeed a joyous event, a cause for celebration.

The union of two kingdoms, two alike in honor and pride.

Yet Clary could not think to join in or enjoy the festivities. Not with her brother, dressed in fine robes of silk, sat across from her, watching her intently with those intense green eyes that matched her own.

Not when her husband was seated beside her, equally tense, looking just as intimidating with black stripes painted over his shoulders, blonde hair braided and woven with bells and oils.

The pair of them watched as the people celebrated, laughing and watching as the dancers in the center of the room moved and shook their beautiful bodies, jingling bells and the like as they shook their hips.

When Clary had first met with her brother after those long, long months, she had felt a fear rise in her and the scared little girl, the one who had been so terrified of Jonathon, come to the surgface, whining to break free. But she had refused. She was stronger now than ever, and would not be torn down by a man who had tormented her and took what bit of herself she had to offer and crushed it in his hands.

The Idrisians, however, didn't join in or laugh or even talk to the other people at the table. They merely watched them, looking wary and hesitant as they glanced at Jace at what to do. They were not used to these people, the ones they had been fighting for so long it was strange to sit together and break bread.

Clary also noticed that the people from Alicante were not so eager to talk to their hosts. In fact, they rather shied away from them, looking equally wary of the other, glancing from side to side.

She supposed she understood.

Hatred never really did die out; as evidence with her brother.

 _I hate you forever._

It was an intense staring match; Clary, Jace and Jonathon. Everyone else was oblivious to the thick fog of untrusting glances and looks of contempt.

But, one man in the room noticed.

The King in the West.

Or Sebastian, as he was called.

He was a muscly, tall man with thick, black hair and equally dark eyes and a bulbous nose. While he was good-looking, in a dark, contemptuous way, he paled in comparison to Jace. But perhaps, Clary was biased, considering her admiration and love for her husband. And she didn't like the way he had looked her up and down when first meeting the Western King. There was a greed in his eyes that she couldn't quite place, one that unnerved her.

He was the ruler of a small island, a bare one scraped of it's resources. He was neither grand nor great, and it was not wrong to assume that he was looking to expand his kingdom.

And both Clary and Jace didn't trust him at all.

He watched her now, dark eyes glinting as he bared his teeth. She felt Jace growl slightly and without thinking, her hand touched his own to comfort him. She regretted it almost immediately, and knew Jonathon didn't miss the action. His eyes narrowed a fraction and he seemed to sit up straighter, tilting his head to the side.

She drew her hand away, regret pooling in her stomach. There would be no taking that back now.

Isabelle, who was seated on the left of Clary, looking stunning in a lovely red robes, hair done up so that it spiraled around her face, looked at up the pair of tense leaders, frowning slightly. Clary sent her a look; later. The expecting mother looked curious, but continued her meal.

Sebastian suddenly rose to his feet; silence blossomed as conversation and music alike stopped abruptly. "My esteemed ladies and lords, it is an honor to dine with you tonight" the Western King crooned. "And especially with the Lord of Idris, and his beautiful bride," he bowed low. Clary and Jace said nothing, but rather watched him warily. "The lovely sister

"Though our stories are not yet legend, and our truce is young and we even more so, I hope that this," he gestured around the room, "will become a tale of time. We will become heroes, legend, stories that mothers will tell their children. In time." Something in his dark, dark eyes glimmered and Clary felt an overwhelming sense of dread cloud her heart.

There was a scattering of applause for Sebastian; he bowed to Jace once again, but Clary saw the slight smirk on his face.

Jonathon raised a hand for silence as he too rose to his feet. Clary gripped the side of her chair, teeth grinding together as she stared at him. Fear, buried deep within her, started to push at the layers she had wrapped around it, when Jonathon smiled almost lazily at her.

The mood changed as each person in the room watched him intently, hanging on every word that he spoke. Her older brother had always managed to maintain a intimidating sense of fear and strength; a terrifying sense of power. "As Sebastian said, it is an honor to be here tonight. Especially since it is the first time in months since I have seen my dear, dear sister," Jonathon said in his grave, calm voice, eyes never straying from Clary. "I am of course fortunate for our union, and the loss of bloodshed between our two kingdoms. I'm sure the Koning feels the same way."

Clary felt Jace tense next to her, felt his repressed anger simmer and steam. She wanted to comfort him, but knew it was impossible with Jonathon watching her like a hawk. She didn't want to give anymore about their relationship than she already had.

"Long live the King!" Jonathon chorused, raising his glass to toast the Koning.

"Long live the King!" The rest of the room sang, cheering and clinking their cups of mead.

Clary raised her own glass, swallowing the rich, bitter taste of wine, letting it fill her mouth with a very sour liquid. Jonathon smiled vilely at her, drinking to the Koning.

The room settled down and general laughter and talk broke out among their guests. The Idrisians in the room remained stoic, ever untrusting as they watched the the foreigners dine at their table and eat their food. It would take years, Clary thought, to mend their feud. Blood would have blood, she remembered.

The conversation was mainly between Jonathon and Sebastian's respective peoples; Clary saw Heath sit next to an extremely chatty maid who was fluttering her eyes at him. Clary repressed a laugh as he grunted at her questions; his dark eyes caught her's and she quickly looked away.

"Clarissa." Clary nearly jumped out of her seat as a very familiar voice said her name. She looked up, heart thumping hard, swallowing back her fear. It was Jonathon, looking down at her.

She regained her senses, steeling herself. "Jonathon," she said stoutly. Clary wanted Jace there, to protect her, but then she realized that she didn't need him to. He was gone anyways, off with the Elders when she had insisted she was fine alone. She was strong enough to protect herself; a Koningin of the Idrisian people, a Morgenstern and one of the last Fairchilds alive.

"Come walk with me, sister," Jonathon said, loudly enough so that the people around her would hear. It would be rude to ignore his request, that was her brother and her king's. "Show me Idris."

Clary resolved her strength, drawing her head up. "Of course, my brother," she said, raising from her seat and took her brother's arm.

They walked away from the hall, Clary hanging on her brother's arm. Clary wondered if he could hear the frantic pace of her heartbeat. The silence between them was thick and repressed with unspoken words, the constant reminder of their past.

When they finally reached the gardens, Jonathon stopped, dropping her arm. He stepped away from her, looking at her up and down. Clary, feeling far, far away from the wolrd right now, heard the chirpings of a bird, the croak of the crickets. "Well, your finally a barbarian," Jonathon commented. "You look like one, just like your savage husband."

Clary said nothing, but glared at him instead. "Why did you bring me here?" She asked him, crossing her arms over her chest, wanting nothing more than to return to her husband.

"Just to talk, sweet sister. Nothing else," he smiled at her, voice quiet.

He watched her for a moment, eyes slightly narrowed. "I told you long ago, little sister, on the day before your wedding, that you had a part to play in this."

"In what?" Clary asked again, feeling just as confused as last time.

Jonathon just smiled at her again. "And I told you, while you have a small part, it is still an important one. You form the bridge between Alicante and Idris. Of course, I had originally planned to marry you to Sebastian-"

"You were going to marry me to Sebastian?" Clary spat, feeling anger rise in her chest. She felt slightly sick at the prospect of marrying that man.

"Of course. His island is between us and Aelunor, King Rowan's city. It's a perfect military base; a way to sneak into the city with an army unnoticed," Jonathon said, as if lost in thought.

"Why would you want to sneak into Aelunor?" Clary asked warily, frowning at her brother, suspicious brimming in her chest. "Why take King Rowan's city?"

"Our ancestors, the First Folk, were the rulers of that land. They killed our great, great grandfather and took his throne!" Jonathon looked furious as Clary watched at him, feeling helpless. "The throne is mine! It is rightfully a Morgenstern's! The Destheon's will pay for their crimes and face death! I will take it, and that city!"

"That's why you married me to the Koning," Clary said, interrupting Jonathon's frantic rage. "So you could his army. You could take an entire kingdom with the barbarians behind you." It was all so clear now; every foggy, murky scheme of Jonathon's was finally coming together.

"Yes," Jonathon said, finally calmed. "You were a key player in this game, Clarissa."

"Jonathon, you cannot think to try and take Aelunor. They are a peaceful people and do not think to wage war. Thousands of people will die, and just so you can take back a crown? You have a throne, Jonathon. Your the king of Alicante! Do you want so many people to die because of you?"

"Let them die. Let them all burn, so that I can claim my throne. So that what was took may be taken back again," Jonathon sneered, looking maniacal.

"Jonathon, please see reason," Clary begged, feeling panicked. "You don't have to do this."

For a moment, Jonathon looked sympathetic, but it disappeared almost immediaytly. "It's too late to stop this, Clarissa. I will do what Father was too weak to do. He lay down and let King Rowan and his High Council walk all over him. I'll take it all back. And you," he turned to Clary, eyes glinting, "I had hoped your husband would break you in, but I see your nothing but a barbarian's slut."

Clary, temper already high, steamed in anger as she glared more fiercely at him, hands clenched in anger. "Do not speak to me like that. Don't you dare," she seethed through clenched teeth.

For a second, Jonathon seemed taken aback, surpise fliting across his face as his lips parted in surprise-

Clary gasped as Jonathon suddenly gripped her arm, nails digging into her arm. Clary yelped, trying to pull away from him, but his grip was just as strong as she remembered. "You are just a whore, sold off to the Barbarian Lord so he can use a quick fuck. Don't you think that your important, you have nothing. You are nothing!" He snapped at her, nails breaking the skin of Clary's bicep.

There was a snarl and a massive wolf came bounding out of nowhere. It was Lykaios! Bigger than ever, his coat shaggy, his muzzle dripping with blood. Jonathon looked scared for a split second, his grasp loosening on Clary; taking advantage of that, she yanked her arm out of his grip and shoved him to the ground. Lykaios ran at her, whining as he licked at her arm, trying to jump up on her.

She gripped his coat, rejoicing at reuniting with her much beloved wolf. Jonathon lay on the ground, green eyes wide with surprise as he gasped slightly, watching her.

"I am the wife of a great King, and Koningin to the Idrisian people," she snarled at him; Lykaios seemed to sense this, and snapped at Jonathon, baring his sharp fangs. "I am Clarissa Morgenstern, Last Living Daughter of House Fairchild and descendant of the First Folk. The next time you dare to lay a hand on me, will be the last time you have hands."

She breathed heavily, staring him down as he watched her in surprise. "You will end this posinious dream of yours," she said sternly; Lykaios growled as his ears flattened. "You will leave Aelunor alone."

Jonathon, with what dignity he still held, rose to his feet. "I've seen that you've changed, Clarissa. Your husband hasn't managed to break you in at all. No matter, no matter. You cannot stop this war, little sister. It has been a long time coming since. The peace treaty would have never held; Father tried to hold it, but his stupidity has failed his children."

Clary frowned, trying to think of some solution to reason with her crazy brother. But before she could open her mouth, Isabelle and Jordaan had hurried into the garden. Isabelle's eyes staryed to the blood that had gathered at where Jonathon's nails had torn. "Nyu Koningin?" Jordaan bowed low, looking alarmed as he eyed her brother.

"It's fine, Jordaan," she reassured him. She looked back at her brother. "Jonathon was just retiring to his room. Get one of the hands to help him there, please." Jordaan nodded obidently.

"Isabelle, escort me back to my chambers," Clary ordered; Isabelle nodded, and both girls left the bitter king to revel in his plans.

* * *

Walking back to her chambers, Clary was eager to find comfort in her husband's arms. It had been a long day, and she was looking forward to sleep. Lykaios had been hunting, and was extremely pleased to see Clary again. But now, as her footsteps lagged behind her and her eyes were heavy with tiredness, she was entirely alone.

The day had been long and hard and had tested Clary, but it had finally come to a close. And she never would have thought that there would have been a day where she was able to stand up to Jonathon and take him down.

There was a monster within him, and she knew that he was about to unleash it onto the world.

But the threat he posed to the people of Aelunor was indeed real. Real enough that it could threaten the lives of women, men and children everywhere. She would discuss it with Jace and see if he had a possible solution.

But deep in her heart, she knew that nothing would stop Jonathon in his madness.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she did not hear the rustle of a clock. She stopped, wary of the shadows.

It was only bad luck that Sebastian, clocked in the darkness, would step out, causing her to halt. He smiled down at her, a clean slate of white teeth. "My Queen," he bowed low, making a feeling of uneasiness trickle down her spine.

"Your Grace," she responded stiffly, hand resting on the dagger that sat in it's sheath. It brought her a feeling of relief, the dagger that had belonged to Jace's mother. She knew she would never part with it.

"A lovely feast, wouldn't you say?" He grinned at her, dark eyes never leaving her's.

"Yes, it was lovely," she said carefully, trying to figure out exactly how she could get around him. "And I'm sorry, Sebastian, but I'm extremely tired and I'd like to get some sleep."

"I apologize, My Queen. However, my bed is always available, if you'd like some sleep," he said and Clary felt revoltion rear in her stomach.

"I am a married woman and I would not share your bed even if I wasn't. And if you make a suggestion like that again, I'll see your head mounted on the wall," Clary said sharply.

Sebastian didn't looked worried; in fact, he just chuckled. He looked at her, a smile ghosting his lips. "Did you know that we were to be wed?" He asked her. Clary was now just realizing how tall he was; he loomed over her, near gigantic.

"Yes, Jonathon did mention it." Clary felt extremely uncomfortable with how he was looking her up and down.

"You would have been mine. And I, your's. It's just a shame, really, that Jonathon decided that your marriage to the Barbarian Lord would have been for beneficial to him," he reached out a hand to try stroke one of Clary's red curls, but she sprung backward, glaring at him.

"Do not try and touch me again," she warned him, scowling fiercely at him.

"And so feisty," Sebastian sighed, looking miserable. "I've bedded many redheads, but none would have come close to you."

"I'm warning you now. Leave, Sebastian," she snarled at him as he just shook his head. He took her by the arm, roughly, but she slapped him hard across the face so that he fell to he ground, hands rasied defensibely.

She knelt, drawing her dagger out and pointing it at his throat. He eyed it warily, looking hesitant. "I could kill you now and no one would suspect me," she said to him. But, she then sheathed it and stared at him in contempt. "But for the sake of my people, I will not. Because I do not want war. But I'm warning you now so you can understand that your actions have consequences." She stepped over him, head held high and walked away.

But she still felt Sebastian's eyes follow her, dark and threatening as she shuddered, hurrying back to her quarters.

* * *

 **What did you think? I'm seriously loving badass Clary. For those of you who don't know GOT, there is a modified Dany quote in there. If you find it, let me know in the reviews!**

 **Please let me know what you think! Review, comment, etc! (same things, but whatever).**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	25. Chapter 25 (The Harbringer Of Death)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 25. The Harbringer of Death**

 **Hello my lovely peoples! Sorry I couldn't update sooner, I was on holiday! I'm back now so here's your chapter!**

 **I still plan on rewriting the previous chapters and fixing some stuff I don't like, so keep posted! I'll let you know when I'm done with them so you can check them out! It'll be pretty much the same, but I'm giving the Clace relationship a little more burn. And new characters will proabably be added, me thinks.**

 **I think I should change the age gap between Clary and Jace. Make him a bit older, like maybe in his early twenties. Right now, it's only like a two-year gap difference but I want to change it. Let me kmnow what you think in the review section.**

 **...**

 **Anyways...here are some quewstions in the comments I wanted to answer from Guest:**

 **1\. I just wanted to know if Clary is loved by her people. You didn't show much interaction between them:**

 **I will show some more interaction later on, I'm just kinda focusing on Clace right now, but next few chapters, I think it will happen. More of it will be later on.**

 **2\. Will Clary have a need for the army that was promised to her by the thief she saved and offered sheltered to previous chapters ago?**

 **They will come along later in the chapter, I promise. It'll all kinda planned.**

 **3\. Will you be including dragons later in the story?**

 **I'm not too sure. Some of you want dragons, some don't, but I might add them in later in. Clary's ancestors used to tame wild magical creatures, that's something I'm planning on adding.**

 **...**

 **But I started watching Riverdale and now I'm kinda obsessed. So...that's great. BUGHEAD! Tehe.**

 **Anyways, keep reading and keep reviewinhg cause I'm gonna be posting more stuff soon! Hopefully...**

 **Read on!**

* * *

 **Chapter 25.**

 **-Clary-**

While all seemed well, the ghost of an almost palpable tension warped and hissed in the air. It lingered on each and every one of them, feasting on the strained glances and gritted smiles. It was hard to even attempt to see past it; the ungoing war, silenced and repressed until it manifested onto itself as a form of hatred.

And Clary bore witness to it all, standing in the thick stew of friend against foe.

Jonathon had been here for all but a week, but as usual, chaos and mischief trailed him like the sweet perfume that clung to his robes. A familiar scent that had followed him since childhood. One that was all to known to Clary. There had been strange tidings amongst the halls of Idris, and like at Alicante, Jonathon was never far behind, watching intently with those green eyes that stank of Clary's childhood.

Glaring at her from across the dining room table as their father recited their prayers.

Watching her from a doorway at night, irisies gleaming in the dying stub of candlelight, making her quack and shiver from her bed.

Drip, drip, drip.

Clary's nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms until they drew blood, warm and thick. She never dared to stray her gaze from Jonathon's, who was looking all too smug as he dined on fine foods, a goblet of mead grasped loosely in the cusp of his hand. His robes were of a soft, silky material that had gold trimmings and the proud emblem of House Morgenstern stitched onto his breast.

Strange news had reached not just Clary's ears, but the Koning's. Horses gone missing, maids defiled in the woods, even a fire started in the storage units. But yet, not a single man could be pinned down for a single incident.

The Idrisians answered in an uproar, furious at the events that had taken place and that no one could be held responsible. They roared for blood, demanding that of Jace to call for war.

But he refused, upsetting a great number of Idrisians.

However, Clary was extremely relived and grateful for her husband, who didn't respond in a violent manner. After all her father had done to ensure peace, it would be an insult to his memory to destroy it all in a single day. And now, the final day of Jonathon's visit had arrived. Clary had waited for this day to come since her brother had arrived. Ever since their encounter at the forest, the two siblings had avoided each other, only exchanging heated glances at the feasts that took place when the moon appeared.

A feast, one worthy to appease even the gods, had taken place in a site far off from the castle. It was like nothing Clary had ever seen; except, perhaps, excluding her wedding which had been an event like nothing before.

The union of the Idrisian King and the Alicantian Princess.

Food, cooked and baked in all forms of golden brown hams and delicious fruit puddings, weighed down the various tables arranged neatly around the open plains. Servers guarded the food as cautiously as they would their gold, swatting away bugs and stray children eager for thirds. There was joyful music, both familiar and foreign to Clary and many a folk laughed and danced along. Jonathon had brought along jesters and fools, who made his people laugh and the Idrisians cock their heads in confusion. Three bonfires were lit in celebration; one for the sky goddess, the second for the moon goddess and the third for the god of the earth.

Women and children danced around them, throwing their hips as mothers whirled their daughters around, waving torches and chanting in a tongue that Clary didn't know.

Jonathon sat with his guards, his hearthband seated around him, eating and drinking and praying to their good health. He hadn't done anything cruel or strange in the past few days, so Clary was naturally suspicious.

The time had now come for the exchange of gifts, a show of good faith and brotherhood between the two once warring kingdoms. Jace had offered his best horses and a share of the raids; gold and treasures and everything Jonathon could ever get his greedy hands on. The horses were all strong, sturdy stallions bred by Idrisians; basically bulls without their horns.

Now, it had come time for Jonathon to present his own gifts for the Koning and his wife. He walked forward, the arrogant step of his swagger all too memorable to Clary. He smiled at the pair of them, Clary and Jace, sitting on thrones weaved out of the sacred wood of the forests of Quileare. Their own guards and handmaidens and servants sat beside them as Jonathon approached. He snapped his fingers and suddenly two guards with a casket appeared beside him, hauling it to the feet of the Koning.

The two men looked upwards and Clary felt the world spin, spin, spinning around her and swallowing her up until darkness was pressed against her body, inside her, corrupting her heart.

Pangborn and Blackwell.

 _Drip, drip, drip._

Hate and fear and violence and all things that ruined the faith of men ravaged her heart and she took a sharp intake of breath. Thankfully, only Jace noticed, but didn't move or do a thing to indicate otherwise. The men who had once been like friendly uncles to her and then tortured her for months without even flinching, here, in her kingdom, near her husband, her people.

Her mind raced with how she would kill them, painfully in a way that she herself understood. Use Lykaios to rip their throats open? No, it would be over far too quickly; she wanted them to suffer.

She blinked as a loud noise brought her back from her medley of revenge schemes. Breathing softly, she pondered on where that anger had come from. Her consistent urge for peace, which had no doubt come from her own father, had been trumped by her own hatred. Gritting her teeth, she restored herself. Jonathon watched her carefully, as did the men behind him.

They had not changed, save for a few more grey hairs tangled through the brown and black manes of their respective heads. But, as she watched them more carefully, she noticed the lines that had began to form in their aging bodies.

He had done this on purpose.

Oh, dear, dear Jonathon.

If anyhting, Jonathon was evil and cruel, but had never been stupid. He was rather bright, in fact, and while he had few feelings himself, he took revelry in exploiting those around him. He could read a man's weakness; whether it be gold or wealth or family. And he understood Clary's twice as well.

She could stand and scream or cry and accuse or order her men to kill them all.

As Jonathon wanted her to do.

But instead, she smiled graciously, bowing her head and getting to her feet. "My sweet brother," she said, with all the venom of a butterfly and the sugar of a sweet. "I thank on the behalf of my husband for this kind gift." The chest was full of mysterious treasures that Jonathon claimed was from the mysterious cities where Olyeran, their benefactor was living. There were strange little wooden dolls and other such bright, bejeweled gifts.

Jonathon, for a split second, looked taken aback, annoyed that his treachery did naught to move Clary. But as quickly as it had happened, his facade ruled his features once more and he was all but willing to play the gracious host. "It is good to hear so, dear sister. Hopefully, your husband adores these gifts as much as you do," Jonathon grinned, a boyish, cheeky grin that could fool all but Clary.

She nodded, ever the face of grace and hospitality. "And hopefully, you appreciate your gifts as much as we will." Their eyes never left the other but rather watched each other as predator watched prey.

The tension in the room thickened like honey in the cold winter as brother eyed sister, foe against foe.

Oh, Jonathon. Did you think to break me? That I was glass once again and that you might shatter me as you have done before? I am no longer your plaything; I no longer belong to your or anyone else.

Isabelle, noticing the palpable tension, rose to her feet, clapping her hands together. Her stomach had swelled to such a threatening size that she was unable to hide her preganncy from anyone. So, she told both Alec and Jace, who were closest to her. Understandably, they both panicked and demanded to know who the father was. But Isabelle still refused to say. Perhaps it was no one they knew; perhaps it was one of their close friends.

But, it was Isabelle's wish that he remain nameless.

"I believe it's time for the dance, my esteemed lords and ladies," Isabelle said with all the charms of a proper Western lady. Her mother, Clary gathered, had taught her that before her untimely death of a fever that took her and Isabelle and Alec's younger brother, Maxwell. She turned to the crowd, raising her arms above her head. "We have a sacred and well-known here in Idris, my Alicantean lords. It is the Fair Vetrus Oue dance, where maidens and maids join to dance together. It is passed down from mother to daughter and honors our goddesses, especially our maiden goddess, Sveu."

Clary felt a nervous thrumming in her veins, but it was of excitement. She had been looking forward to this for what had felt like forever.

Something wicked grew in Isabelle's eyes as she smiled at the Koning, who watched her warily as any man could who knew of Isabelle's nature. "And tonight, our very own Koningin will join us in this dance. She has been practicing very hard, you see, and she wishes to show the common people, as well as her husband, of her knowledge." Clary felt the beginnings of a smile push at her lips; but she fought back, choosing to instead rise to her feet. A handmaiden took of her fur cloak so that Clary was dressed in only silk shirt that showed off her stomach and a long, swishing skirt that showed off just a slit of her left leg.

She could feel the Koning's eyes on her, hot and intense but she did not look at him. She looked to the flames that roared and flickered and danced like exotic flowers in the full bloom. She walked like she was gliding alongside the water, making her way down the steps. Her eyes met Jonathon's and she tilted her head to the side, smiling as she did so. She reached Isabelle, holding her arm out so that her hand touched the raven-haired beauty's.

More maidens joined them, dressed in similar clothing to Clary's; some wore flowers in their hair while others had woven in beads and bells that made their long hair jingle when they walked. They smiled shyly at Clary, touching her hair, her stomach, her breasts for good luck before the dance before.

Clary could all eyes on her; Sebastian, Jonathon and Jace's especially but she just took a breath and turned around to face the people. Her people.

"My mense, ek hoop jy geniet hierdie dans waarvoor ons lank voorberei het. Mag die gode en godinne helder op ons en ons kinders kom," she said boldly to them, a troupe of maidens standing behind her.

 _(My people, I hope you enjoy this dance that we have long prepared for. May the gods and goddesses look brightly down upon us and our children to come)._

A slow beat pulsed through the crowd as the musciians began to play their sweet harps and violent drums that send vibrations tingling up Clary's spine. The music got louder and louder and louder until it was all Clary could hear. The dance began, slow and soft, with the woman using their bodies to create magic in their movements. Clary knew this dance well, having been put through it by Isabelle so many gruelling hours. She moved her arms to spin silk into the music, her hips moving with her.

Jace watched her so intensly that she thought she might fall at her knees but she didn't. Instead she swung her hips with more vigor, looking sultrily at her husband. She could feel the lust simmer in his eyes as he leaned forward in his chair, muscles taunt and golden eyes hard and looking only at her. Their gazes never strayed and his eyes feasted on her stomach, her breasts, the bare of her legs when the wind lifted them for just him to see.

She could sense his hard arousal as he could her's; soaking wet and eager for him.

And soon, she allowed herself to be taken away by the music, moving her hips to a place where she was safe and alone.

Clary had barely stepped foot into her room when she felt strong hands grab her waist and pull her into a hot, warm body that was muscled against her. She turned so that she was facing her husband and kissed him long and hard, pressing her body against him, grinning madly when she felt how ready he was for her.

He attacked her, picking her up and throwing her onto the bed as she laughed, feeling both excited and aroused. He crawled over on his knees so that he was above her, something dark and sensuous in the gold of his irises. "I want to fuck you," he breathed into her ear; Clary inhaled his delicious smell of pine and smoke and everything that made him her's.

"So fuck me," she told him, pulling him down so that he collapsed on top of her and she was surrounded by him, it was him, all him. And nothing else. He attacked her neck with his lips, making her moan and gasp as he fumbled with her clothes. She arched her back so he could undo her drawstring; but in such a rush, he was unable so he growled, choosing instead to rip her dress in half with her hands, throwing them away in a fit of passion.

"Jace!" She gasped, but when he shook off his own clothes and was suddenly on top of her again; then, he was inside her and all was well.

They both groaned in relief as Clary was filled completely by his girth like never before. He soon began thrusting in and out, harder than he had ever done before. Clary moaned, making strange, gasping sounds as he pumped in and out of her. Every nerve in her body was on fire, being fueled by the wonderful fucking that heightened all of her senses and made her feel alive, so, so alive.

He pounded in and out of her, as fast as many man could possibly be. He made her gasp and pant and cry out when he hit her spot. Soon, he flipped her over so that she was on her hands and knees.

It was strange, but oddly erotic, being in such an animistic position. She arched her back; looking back at him. "More, please, more," she whimpered, feeling her heart beat, beat, beat furiously inside her chest.

His fingers teased her, making her shiver. "What, cstrisi? What do you want, hm?" He asked her in a husky voice that made her walls clench.

She turned around so that they were face to face. She grabbed his cock, making him inhale sharply. She kissed him, gently at force, but then raised her other hand to fist his hair. "You," she told him.

He grinned, the chip in his incisor flashing, a smile that made her insides melt.

A look that made him appear far younger.

Jace flipped her over again so that she had facing the headboard, rear pointed towards him. He entered her quickly; Clary shuddered at the feeling of this new position which she had seen so many times, but had never once experienced. He thrust in and out violently, hands on her waist, hard and brutal.

This kind of love making was new and strange to her, the roughness; but it was all the more pleasurable, she thought dimly as she was thrust into.

Clary was nearing her climax; as was Jace, who she could feel growing more and more hot inside her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she cried out his name, pleading for more and more. She came in a violent frenzy, body spasming as she collapsed; Jace followed suit, coming inside her as her walls swelled with his seed. They were both breathing hard, sweating furiously as Jace pulled Clary into his arms, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

She buried her face into his neck, her breathing becoming much softer. "Did you like my dancing?" She asked him, smiling into his skin which felt and smelt so familiar to her.

He chuckled breathlessly, squeezing her buttock. "It was amazing, cstrisi," he told her. "Made me harder than a rock. But I did not like the other men watching. You see, I do not like to share," he told her.

"Neither do I," Clary smiled devilishly at him. He smiled, stroking her hair. Something then came to her, something she had been wondering for a while now. "Jace, who did you lose your viginity to?" She asked him.

He pondered this, fingering a stray curl of her red mane. "Does this matter, cstrisi? You are the only woman for me, ever," he said to her.

"I was curious," she told him, tracing the muscles on his chest. "Your culture is so different from mine. We usually have to wait until marriage, or else we're considered spoilt and defiled."

"You come from a strange place, cstrisi. Where they teach you that pleasure is wrong and you should not be allowed it." Idrisian people reminded her of wild wolves and dogs who could never be tamed, or broken in. "It was to a girl who was a little older than me. I was only fourteen."

"After you returned from the forest," Clary said, remembering the story he had told so long ago.

"Yes. I was the next Koning, you remember. I was revered for returning, as many did not think I would come back. Every girl wanted me, you know. And I had grown to the size of a young bear, which helped. I was stupid and thought I ran the world. So," he played with her hair. "I fucked the first girl with big tits who smiled at me."

Clary was silent for a second. "When I first saw you, nyu vou sueni, my brother told me you had fucked all the woman in Idris," she said solemnly.

Jace chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Your brother is a liar and a scoundrel, my love. Yes, I have been with many woman but as I have told you before, I never made love to any of them. They didn't matter, I don't even remember their faces. But you are the first woman I have ever made love to. Yes, cstrisi?"

She nodded. "So long as you do not do it to any other woman but me. Or," she picked herself up and her lips hovered above his own. "I will make sure you can never fuck any woman again."

Jace laughed, kissing her gently. "I would expect nothing less from you, my Koningin." He was solemn for a moment, though. "So often, you remind me of my mother. She had the same fire that you do."

Clary held him, hands gripping tightly onto his body. "What was she like?" She asked, knowing of how much Jace had loved his mother.

"I think she would have liked you, cstrisi. You would have gotten along, strong and brave women," he smiled, but it was distant. "There isn't a day that goes past without me thinking about her, but I have you now. And that is everything I need."

"And what of your father?" She hesitated at this, not knowing much about the former Koning of Idris.

Jace contemplated his answer. "He was a fair man, cstrisi. But often stern and he could be cruel." His fingers led her's to the old scars across his back. "When I misbehaved, he would punish me. He said it would make me strong. And it did. He only ever showed love to my mother and no one else, not even me. Yet, my mother insisted that he loved me. And when I was small, he gave me a bird to tame. It hated me at first, and scratched me everywhere. But as I fed and petted it and it soon grew to love me. And I loved it.

"But on my tenth year of life, my father told me to kill it. He said I had to snap it's neck, or I would never be able to become a Koning." Clary listened in silence, feeling shocked.

"And...did you?" She asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes, cstrisi." He kissed her mouth and she felt his cock grow against her thigh. "But I do not want to talk about such sad things now. I just want your body against mine." He played with her nipple and pressed his lips to her more fiercely.

She joined him and soon he was inside her all over again and the girl could ask for nothing more.

* * *

 **What did you guys think?**

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 **Yay!**

 **Please review cause they're great!**

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	26. Chapter 26 (The Mother's Curse)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 26. The Mother's Curse**

 **Hi you guys! Here's another update; thank you for all your amazing reviews! Made my day, as usual. I hope you like this chapter, worked really hard on it. But, however, there may be some mistakes as my auto correct isn't working. So, forgive me if there's any spelling errors, I do what I can!**

 **There will be lots of discussion of heirs and pregnancy in this chapter which discuss the future and stuff. I hope you enjoy it...there may be some hints for the future...wink, wink, wink. And the assassin that Rufus hired will appear in later chapters, maybe in the next two or three. Now, there is a war that is approaching, but between who? Continue reading to find out!**

 **And, we just reached over 700 reviews! Thank you so, so much for all your support. It made my day!**

 **I love you all and please enjoy this chapter! If you have any requests, put them in the review section and I'll see if I can make this happen.**

 **Read and review, loves!**

* * *

 **Chapter 26.**

 **-Third Person POV-**

The lands around the barbarian territory grew with an untamed fury, the raw wildness of it all weeded throughout the landscape. The man, bored, chose to watch the river trickle past him in cascades; the clear blue showed the world beneath, the fish that glided through the water, the stones and treasures that settled in the dusky sand. The water was beautiful, and seemed to sparkle in an almost magical way.

The man was entranced by it, eyes wide as the river seemed to whisper to him, dancing before him as the water writhed and wiggled beneath him. There was a snap and the man turned, dragging his eyes from the river. His hand drifted to his sword, where it was buried within it's sheath; however, he breathed in relief as it was just who he was expecting. "I didn't think you would come," the man said, collecting his composure. "Not many people would."

The dark-haired man smiled at him, a smile that he was smart enough not to trust. "When another King, who is much more powerful than I, requests my presence, it would be unwise to not appear," he smiled once again, a flash of white teeth glistening from his slim lips.

The man raised an eyebrow, telling himself not to underestimate people. Occasionally, they would surprise him. "Yes. Most unwise. You came alone?" He asked, peering around for any other sign of life.

The dark-haired youth nodded, leaning against the tree with all the arrogance of a young man who thought the world was clasped in his hand. "As you instructed. I made certain no one followed me either," he said placidly.

"Good. And now we can begin our business," the man said, licking his lips in anticipation. How long he had waited for this moment. He could feel the nervous tension pressing against his chest.

"And finish our discussion from the last time we met in Alicante," the other man said. "What exactly is your plan?"

"The Morgensterns ruled Aelunor by right for hundredsyears after building it up from nothing. I simply want to reclaim what is mine, as Last Living Son of The First Folk and as Valentine Morgenstern's son. I will use the Barbarian Lord's army to take the city and join the kingdoms together. Your island will be to a direct path right into where I can take that fat oaf Rowan Destheon by suprise and kill him for the wrong he has done to my ancestors. I will rule Aelunor, Alicante and to an extent, Idris," Jonathon Morgenstern, born from the old blood of the First Folk, said to the dark-haired man.

"Idris?" Sebastian Verlac asked, suprised. "Why Idris? The Koning rules in the South."

"My sister, insipid and dull as she may be, is a Morgenstern by name. And that name belongs to my family. Any offspring that comes from between my dear sister's legs will be a Morgenstern, as the Koning has no name for them ro claim. It will be a Morgenstern dynasty that will last for the ages, until this world is little more than dust and bone," Jonathon swore, the madness in him evolving to the point of mindless rage.

"And what will be my reward? For raisinf arms against the Destheons?" The dakr-haired King in the East asked him, eyebrows raised in question.

"For one, I am the rightful King of Aelunor and all it's riches. You shall be heavily rewarded for your service to me and my family. Any lands I claim can become yours. All you have ever wanted will be yours for the taking when I am made King," Jonathon said, feeling satisfaction at the greed growing on Sebastian's face.

But he still looked unhappy. "There is another thing that I wish for, Jonathon."

"Anything you desire, except my throne," Jonathon frowned, wondering exactly what he desired.

"I want what was meant to be mine. I want your sister, who was intended for me," Sebastian said sharply, eyes trained fiercely on Jonathon.

The silver-haired prince hesitated, mind working furiously to combat this situation. His sister's children could one day carry on the Morgenstern name and ensure his rule to the end of his days. And the Idrisians would not take kindly to their Queen being stolen and given to another man; nor would Clarissa ever submit. Her newfound courage made him slightly uneasy; what exactly had that Barbarian Lord been doing to her?

He had expected this great and fearsome Idrsians King to break her in, tame her as he had done. Yet, she was just as wilful as when his father had been alive.

Howver, when he had heard that Clarissa was not yet with child, or neither looked like she was, he was surprised. Perhaps his seed wasnt as potent and a child would not yet come.

Or maybe, Clarissa was like him.

Sterile and unable to born a child.

He had come to this terrible discovery when he had attempted to impregnate a pretty, young handmaiden, with whom he had attempted to try many times. But after discovering that she was not with child, he had visited a physician in the North. Initially, he had thought it was something wrong with the handmaiden. So he tried different women, but alas, no avail. All remained barren, some even having produced children from before. He had told him that he was unable to have children; this had been a great spike in his plan, as he had already been offered to many a princess across the lands.

But he was unable to produce a child, so no heir could come from him.

Even he understood the nessecity of producing a child, an heir to his throne. And if he could not, if it ever appearwd that no heir would ever come from him, people would begin to question him as rheir leader. '

Whuch was why he killed the physician and all rhose different omwne so his secret would never be revealed.

Of course, there were those wandered why he was not wed yet. Why he did not marry, when he was so young and fair and in need of a wife.

He desperately required an heir so that the Morgenstern name could be carried on for centuries.

So, he was forced to reject a marriage offer from the lord of a great land, who's daughter was fair anf fertile. Instead, he turned to his sister, who could produce a child that might one day take his place and continue the Morgenstern dynasty. Any child that came from between her closed legs would be brought to Alicante and trained so that he would one day lead the kingdom after he had take Aelunor.

And he had expected Clarissa to be so timid and reserved that she would not object to her child being taken. But alas, how she had grown.

However, it did not appear that she was pregnant, and that disappointed him greatly. But there was still hope that she might produce a child. But then, Sebastian could always impregnate his sister...

Give him the heir that he needed.

He turned to the dark-haired King, who was watching him carefully. "Your Grace, my sister will be yours when I capture Aelunor and crush the Idrisians once I have made use of their army," Jonathon promised, though he felt strange saying it.

Another part of his plan had been unfurled, taken apart. Jonathon felt uneasiness curl in his chest, but he brushed it away.

He had to adapt if he was going to lead kingdoms and men.

Sebastian smiled, a sick and twisted and cruel smirk that set off something sinister in the delves of Jonathon's dark, dark heart. "Your sister will be mine. Do you swear this, Jonathon of House Morgenstern?" Sebastian said, with a cruel smirk in his black, soulless eyes.

Jonathon met his gaze with his own, green clashing with black. "I swear it, on all that is holy in His Lord's eyes," he said, not knowing at that time what his actions would ensure.

Yet in his heart he felt dread, whioch was as black as he was.

* * *

Clary's dreams were hot and languid, full of Jace's kisses and long strokes. There were in the middle of nowhere, in a field of flowers borne of daisies and blue perwinkles that tickled Clary's neck as her husband grunted above her, thrusting his cock in and out of her hot core. The sun blessed them, shining down on the bare of their naked bodies as sweat made them sticky and hot.

But all too soon, it was over and she was awake, feeling sick in the stomach as she lurched outside.

Her stomach heaved and she groaned as she leaned over, falling onto her knees. A horrible feeling swelled in her throat and gurgled in her stomach and she retched and vomit spilled from her mouth. She held her stomach and prayed for it to end, as the feeling of nausea and dizzying pain clawed and tore at her body.

And it too, was soon over. She slumped over, gasping softly as she held a hand to her stomach. Her head felt much clearer and she shuddered a sigh of relief, massaging the bare skin of her stomach.

She wondered what the pain was; had she eaten something strange? Her husband was currently dealing with the raiders, the same ones who had belonged to the group who had dared taken Isabelle and Clary. That had meant that he was gone for long hours, debating with the Elders and trying to stop their attacks on the far side of Idris.

Long hours spent without him, in the company of her handmaidens and a very pregnant Isabelle who was expecting in a few weeks.

That meant she was forced through nights of touching herself, wishing it was her husband who's fingers were inside her.

Or peferbaly, his cock.

She took another deep breath, hands rested lightly over her stomach.

It had been a few days since Jonathon had left. Clary remembered his gaze trained on her as he had gracefully stepped into his carriage, gleaming green eyes trained on her. She stared openly back at him, face trained into an expression of defiance, Lykaios by her side, Jace on the other. He tipped his head forward, mockingly gracious. Then him and all his men had left, Heath being the last. Looking her square in the eyes, something dark glinted in his expression.

But it was nothing compared to the gaze that Sebastian gave her, something so territorial and possessive that it made Clary want to shrink back.

But she didn't.

She glared at him; Lykaios followed suit, baring his knife-like fangs at the Eastern King.

She sincerely hoped that it was the last she had ever seen of him. But somehow, she didn't think it was.

The moment Jonathon had left, Clary had felt an immeasurable pressure being lifted off her chest. Constantly being in is presence of her older brother had put a strain on both Clary' physical and mental state; something that Jace, Isabelle and her soldaat's had all noticed. But now that he was gone from her life, whisked away to a place where she knew he couldn't hurt her.

And the entire population of Idris was much safer for it.

A wet snout suddenly nuzzled her neck and she shot up, frightened, but realized it was only Lykaios. The wolf had taken to hunting through the night, and coming back around only during the day. It seemed that the wolf had finally approached it's last few weeks of growth, and he was nearing a fully grown Druid wolf, which was twice the height and weight of a normal wolf.

"Lykaios," she breathed softly, stroking his snout, marveling at the sheer size of him. "Where have you been?" She was suddenly noticing the blood that stained his fur, the leaves that was caught in the soft curls of his collar.

He replied by happily grunting at her, slobbering all over her hand. She smiled down at him, happily reminiscing the times she had seen him as a mere cub, small and hapless in the great world around him, at the mercy of those who were much more stronger than he ever was.

He reminded Clary of herself.

Then, the most peculiar thing happened. Lykaios' ears perked up, and he looked straight at Clary. She looked at him, curious, but it was when he started to sniff at her stomach that it was very strange. His snout investigated the flat of her stomach, wet mouth dribbling all over her belly. He growled a little, but licked her skin tentatively nonetheless.

Clary frowned at him, trying to clam the agitated wolf, but he kept sniffing at her stomach, occasionally whining and scratching at his nose. "Shh...it's alright," she crooned at him, patting his back.

"Clary?" It was Isabelle, waddling over to Clary, hands rested over her stomach. "Clary, I think I feel her kicking!" She said excitedly, face lighting up. But it fell flat as she saw Clary's expression. "Are you alright?"

Clary quickly schooled her features into one that was happy for her best friend. "Of course," she smiled warmly at her. She walked over and placed a hand on Isabelle's stomach, feeling tiny little feet kick at the swell of the stomach. "I feel her," she breathed, amazed.

Isabelle looked joyful as she stroked her belly. "She's quite the kicker, though. I can hardly get any sleep at all, Clare. However, it's all worth it," she said, staring adoringly down at her unborn child. "But," she added, looking scornful, "I could quite do without the swollen ankles. And I look hideous."

"You do not!" Clary laughed, thinking about how Isabelle could never never look ugly, even if she treied.

"I am glad to not get the mother's curse in the mornings anymore," Isabelle said.

"Mother's curse?" Clary questioned, confused.

Isabelle sent her a strange look. "Yes, Clary. Mother's curse. It is said that a mother must go through pain in order to receive her child. It is the god's will that we suffer through our pregnancy so that we can bear the responsibility of raising that child. This includes the sickness of the morn, the swollen ankles, all the other pains," Isabelle explained, rubbing her swollen belly.

Clary scratched under Lykaios' chin, making him whine in pleasure. "That's interesting. Back in Alicante, we were told that it was normal," she said, but her thoughts raced.

Isabelle shrugged, but took Clary's hand. "I want to go out into the village one last time." She looked at Clary pleadingly. "Escort me?"

Clary nodded, smiling at her friend. "I've been meaning to visit a friend down there anyways. Of course I'll come down with you." The two set off, Lykaios padding after them, occasionally wandering off to sniff at plants and trees. As they walked through the village, women and children ran up to them, kissing Clary's cheeks, rubbing their hands across Isabelle's stomach for good luck. She smiled at them, touching their hands, hugging a few of them that she knew.

Lykaios played with the children, licking at their faces, chasing them as they laughed delightfully, pulling at his tail. He barked happily, tail wagging from side to side.

"Koningin!" They cried out, rushing to greet her. She gladly blessed their children by touching their faces, whispering Ancient Words of Lock into their ears.

"Cla-ry!" A tinkling voice called out; it was little Nadine, much taller than when Clary last saw her. The tiny girl ran into Clary's arms; she picked Nadine up so that she rested in the cusp of her arm's. Nadine wound her skinny arms around Clary's neck, squealing delightedly.

"Nadine!" She said happily, kissing the side of her head. "How are you?"

The dark-haired girl grinned at her, showing her missing teeth in her broad smile. "I am very good. I learn more things for Koningin," she said shyly as she played with the red strands of Clary's hair.

Clary kissed her cheek again. "Thank you, little princess. I'm glad your learning more," she said fondly. Nadine's mother came rushing up to them, eager to greet the Koningin. The little girl jumped from Clary's arms into her mother's, burrowing her head into her mother's neck. She touched Nadine's beautiful dark hair one last time before gliding away, Isabelle in tow, Lykaios chasing away the last of the children.

They passed through to the edge of the farmlands, where the people towed away at the soil. She neared the edge of the land, where a tiny little structure was built, the Idrisian version of a Eastern house. Gathering her robes, she knocked on the door. There was a giggle, and it was flung open by a woman that Clary could barely recognize.

"Clary!" Helen, tanned and healthy, cried out, pulling Clary into a hug that almost squeezed the life from her. She looked better than ever; she had gained weight so that her breasts had swelled and her hips were prominent. Her eyes were alive and bright, her mouth constantly smiling, revealing bright teeth. Silvery blonde hair spiraled down her back, healthy and lush.

"Helen!" Clary gushed, equally delighted and pleased to see her. Three more sets of footsteps followed Helen and two women and a little girl came forward.

Helen drew back, picking the little girl up. Clary recognized them as the slaves that she had once freed and they slowly came forward. "Nyuola," they whispered, touching her stomach and her breasts.

Mother, she remembered.

She smiled at them, kissing the little girl on the cheeks. "How are you, Helen? You look amazing," Clary smiled, leading her outside. Helen drew up seats for her guests, helping a pregnant Isabelle settle down into her seat. She brought out some fruit for them all, juicy and ripe to the point for they might burst. The other three slave women who Clary had sent to help Helen in the field settled down next to them, the little girl leaning against Clary's legs.

Clary nibbled at a piece of fruit, the sweet juice flooding her mouth. "Helen, how have you been? I apologize that I haven't been around to visit you more, but I've been busy for so long," she told her light-haired friend, taking her hand with her own.

"It's alright, Clary," Helen said, smiling sweetly at her. Her English had improved so much that she spoke it near fluently, her sentences flowing together smoothly. "I've been really busy myself. And I have Mona to keep me busy," she said to the little girl, stroking her hair fondly. "And these two have been a great help on the farm." She gestured towards the young women who blushed when mentioned. They clamored over to Isabelle, who was eating ravenously. They touched her belly, crooning at the unborn baby within Isabelle.

Clary leaned forward, eyes concered. "And is anyone bothering you? Any of the soldiers or the men?" She asked her in a low voice.

Helen shook her head, looking amused. "No, Clary, I'm alright, really. After Kyewan, no one dares try and touch me." Clay shuddered at the memory of the slimy man who had once ran the farmlands. "And I'm doing amazing. The girls have taught me the Common Tongue and our harvest is about to come in. The men next door help us when we have too much to do again." She looked down at her hands, smiling.

"That's amazing," Clary said, feeling exhilioarted.

"And it's all thanks to you, Clary. If it wasn't for you, I would still be stuck in that place, different men taking me ever night. And so would these women as well," she said gesturing at the girls who were still gushing over Isabelle. "And Mona would be a servant," she cradled the little girl protectively, with all the ferocity of a mother cub.

Clary felt something warm grow in her stomach as she embraced her friend. And the women watched the sun set, streaks of yellow shooting through the sky.

* * *

It was dark out tonight; Clary could barely make out the forest in the thick fog of black which was misted over with the fluff of the white clouds. The stars couldn't be seen either; a few sparkling dots managed to bear through the night sky. There was a chill in the air; one that had followed Clary through from the morning.

It was not a good sign.

Autumn was well on it's way and with the approach of the leaf season, she knew what waited for all of them.

Winter, harsh and cold and a time where the ground grew solid and no crops could grow.

Clary shook her head, troubled, but was drawn from her thoughts when her Druid wolf howled, whining at the moon. Lykaios was edgy tonight, randomly growling and snapping at the air as if it agitated him. Clary tried to calm him, but he shifted away from her touch, shaking his head and snuffling at the ground. She knelt down next to him, stroking his head as he finally calmed. "Why don't you go out hunting, Lykaios?" She murmured to him, kissing his snout. He snorted, before bounding off into the forest, barely even a sliver in the dark, dark night.

She straightened up, brushing off her dress. Walking towards the stable, she considered going to see Callisto. She hadn't been able to see her silver mare for ages now but she still remembered riding her the first time, stroking her white mane.

As she was about to reach the stables, sudden voices reached her ears. She stopped, straining to hear them. They sounded happy, surprised, urgent.

Frowning, Clary ducked her head around the corner. Her eyes widened as she observed what she saw before her.

It was Simon and Isabelle, standing together. Simon held Isabelle by the face, murmuring words of what Clary could only describe as love and commitment. Isabelle had happy tears leaking down her face as she rested her head against Simon's chest, sobbing quietly. He stroked her thick, black hair, tears of his own trailing down his face. Clary felt as though she was disturbing something private, something so intimate that it was meant for no one but themselves.

However, Clary could not move, for she was still in shock as she watched them.

The stable boy went down on two knees and kissed the swell of Isabelle's stomach, stroking it gently as Isabelle touched his hair, still sniffling. He rubbed her belly in a way that only...a father could.

Then it collapsed down upon Clary, the truth hitting her like whetstone.

Simon was the father of Isabelle's child.

However, he was a slave. If anyone were to find out, he would most likely be killed for impregnating a native Idrisian woman.

Killed in a painful way.

That was why she told no one, not even her own brother, the true identity of her child's father, so that she could protect him.

Isabelle loved Simon, she realized as she saw the pair of them, embracing each other in a way that only lovers would.

But, if anyone were to ever find out...it could mean the death of Simon, who was so kind and gentle and one of Clary's dearest friends.

It simply wasn't fair.

Clary watched them for a few seconds longer; Simon, far taller than the already much high in height Isabelle, was clutching Isabelle to him, their hands twined together over Isabelle's pregnant belly. They looked happy in love, lost in blissful happiness. However, Clary thought dully, they could never really be together. He was a slave, and she was the daughter of a revered warrior, a dear friend to the Koning.

This filled Clary with sadness.

She turned away, head down, her heart breaking at their secret. But she knew she could never berate their happiness. She knew she had to keep this to herself, and never tell anyone, not even her husband.

Another secret that she would have to keep from Jace.

She sighed, feeling guilt cloud her heart. She walked back to her room, her handmaidens cleaning her and dressing her into her night clothes. As she settled into her bed, she turned to the side, still feeling troubled. However, she knew that deep down inside, it was all for the greater good.

* * *

 **Dun dun dun! The drama continues! Simon is the baby daddy! What! No one saw that coming! JK, babes.**

 **Stay tuned for more! Please review!**

 **Sebastian wants Clary, but will he get her?**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	27. Chapter 27 (A Warlock's Magic)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 26. A Warlock's Gift**

 **Hi you guys! Thank you for your reviews. Because I love you all so much, here is another chapter. This one confirms something that all of you have been asking! I hope you all like it and it's not a pain. I hope you all enjoy because I'll probably update one more time this or early next month.**

 **Wink, wink.**

 **Anyways, I hope you like this chapter. There are many characters and their different interactions. There is also a prophecy! Yay! And for all you Malec lovers, there is a surprise for you!**

 **Clary will tell Jace about the men in this chapter, I promise.**

 **Yay! Clace! Malec!**

 **Please read and review, I hope you like this chapter!**

 **Love you all!**

* * *

 **Chapter 25.**

 **-Clary-**

The village of Idris was full of laughter and noise; it was infectious, a sensation that threaded through each and every person. Even the old crones and haggard men were able to raise their glasses and cheer to good health. The children were especially excited and were delighted at the vast amounts of goods and treasures that the merchants brought in. They went running to their mothers and fathers, begging them for more things to trade.

And Clary, in the thick of it all, couldn't also help but feel excited by the prospect of it all.

Travelling merchants were currently in Idris, eager to show off their goods and trade various treasures from around the world to the Idrisians. They came forward to the Koning, who allowed them a few night's stay and accommodations to suit them.

It was their last here, and Clary was determined to make the best of whaat she could. So, she gathered some jewels and treasures to trade, eager to see what the rest of the world would offer her.

Isabelle accompanied her; the pregnant woman was glowing, her skin radiant and looking positively beautiful in a simple white gown. Clary felt a little uncomfortable about her friend, considering she knew about the true identity of the unborn child's father. But she linked arms with the raven-haired beauty nonetheless and walked through the crowded streets, dodging children and giggling maidens as they eyed the foreign merchants.

Jace was still occupied with the raider problem, but Clary could hardly berate him. His people, his kingdom, came first. It was his duty.

And he would come back to her, as he always did.

Clary and Isabelle visited each stall, eager to see what there was. Each merchant that they visited scrambled to their knees, bowing and raving profusely about how honored they were to meet her. She met each of them with a smile and politely accepted their thanks. They offered her spices and sweets from the White Cities, exotic silks and cloths from the far South and jewelry from the Black Islands.

It made her happy to see the celebration and joy in her people; how they greeted her, blessing her with oils and rubbing her arms for good luck.

She was full by the end of the day; stuffed with honey and bread and pastries that came from the Far East.

However, as usual, all good things had to come to an end.

The end of the day was approaching fast; the children complained and moaned as their parents dragged them home, pleading for just a little more time at the markets. Clary laughed as she watched them, giggling with Isabelle as a little boy pouted at his mother. The merchants began cleaning up their stalls, ready for their hefty travels in the days to come.

Clary felt uncomfortably hot for a moment, then very cool. It had been happening for the past few days; swollen ankles, tender breasts, peculiar food cravings, headaches and she was constantly tired. She had her different moods and even burst out crying when Jace had asked her if she was alright.

As Isabelle and Clary were approaching the end of a market, a woman, old and gnarled, slipped quietly from the edges of the shadows. She was well old, with a shock of white hair that was partly falling off. Her skin was mottled and sagging, thick bags etched under her eyes. Her back was hunched, her legs twisted stubs and her hands were like the roots of a tree, gnarled and old. Her clothes were just as ragged and misshapen as she was; Clary and Isabelle backed a little ways away as she approached them slowly, a old stick supporting her weight. "Children," she rasped, spittle flying from her voice. "Come closer, children. I will not hurt you."

Clary and Isabelle exchanged weary looks, before edging closer to the hag. "Hello," Clary introduced herself, smiling as well as she could. "I am-"

"Clarissa Morgenstern, Last Living Daughter of the First Folk," the old women breathed, as if she couldn't quite believe her eyes. "The Koningin of the Idrisian People. Yes, dear. I know who you are."

Clary felt curiosity clawing at her insides, but an underlying feeling of nerves rattled through her bones. The woman smiled toothlessly at her, flashing her a look of her rotted gums. "I am a healer and the great-granddaughter of the prophet Julami. I see all, Clarissa Morgenstern. Then and now, soon and later. You will see, child. Now come. I have something for you," she croaked, raising a crooked finger and gesturing for them to come.

She disappeared into a ratted tent, hiding within it's flaps. Isabelle clutched at Clary's arm, hissing into her ear. "Clary, I don't think this is a good idea," she said nervously, looking around. The other merchants were beginning to slowly roll their carts away; no one was paying any attention to them.

Clary rested an arm on her hand. "She knows who I am. And she looks harmless, Izzy," she reassured her friend gently.

She entered the tent, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell and the years of dust and neglect. The old woman was sitting down, legs crossed over each other. A raven, which seemed to be as old as she was, perched on a stand next to her, croaking as Isabelle and Clary sat down on the dusty cushions across from the lady.

The old woman turned to Isabelle first, pale, milky eyes moving over her body. She rested her gnarled hands across Isabelle's stomach, moving her fingers around. Isabelle sent a look to Clary, one full of uncomfortable fury. The old woman took a deep breath, before drawing herswelf away. "You will have a girl, Isabelle of Idris. She will be born on the next moon, a week from now. Her blood with will be of Old Idris and New Delma, where her father hails from," the woman said, an unearthly glow in her pale eyes.

Isabelle gasped in delight, smiling. "How did you know?" She exclaimed.

"I have the gift of prophesy. I see many things and I know when a mother is with it's child." And with that, the old woman turned to Clary. "I see something inside you, Clarissa Morgenstern. I see a child turn man, a Koning who will one day take this world and make it his own. He will lead armies and conquer kingdoms and ride his own vicotry to the ends of the universe. Men will love and fear him, for he has the Fairchild blood inside him, as well as the blood of Old Idris," she rasped, clucthing at Clary's face.

Clary was shocked. "A-are you saying I'm with child?" She gaped, hands flying to her stomach.

The old woman nodded. "Yes. From between your legs will spring your child, forming the bond between Alicante and Idris. A boy, he will be. But man, when the winter comes. And you, sweet child," the woman said blindly, grasping Clary's arms. "Your path is far darker. Control what you will, but not want you want. Lose whom you love, but regain what has been lost. Bring down two kings and birth another, for your heart is dark, like to your brother's," she hissed into the dark.

"Dark, dark, dark," the raven behind her squawked, flapping it's wings. Clary tried to pull her arms away, but the old woman seemed to have an ungainly grip on her arms.

"Clary!" Isabelle cried out, trying to wrench her from the old woman's grip.

"I see you!" The old woman scearmed. "I see you! In the flames, in the cave, in the river! I see you!" Clary looked into her eyes and saw herself, scared and small, dirty and ragged, rich and grand.

And it was all she could see.

* * *

Clary lay in Jace's arms, his sweaty body muscled and hard against her own soft skin. He stroked her hair, playing with her fiery-red strands. He kissed her forehead. "You seem stressed, cstrisi. Why are you troubled?" He asked her as she gripped him tight, a leg thrown over his own.

She sighed into his shoulder, inhaling his scent in. Her cheek rubbed against the shadow of stubble; he had not shaved in a few days and it scraped her chin. "It's just Jonathon, nyu vou sunei. This war he is threatening, it uneases me," she told him. "He wants to take Aelunor and will kill thousands when he does."

"If he does," Jace corrected her, tracing patterns into his skin. "He needs our army, and I wont let him have it."

"If you deny him this, he will take me from you," she told him, attempting to explain just how sevre this situation was. "If you don't honor your opact and bring your army to him, then he will take me; Jonathon doesn't care for the law. He doesn't care that I'm yours now,"

Jace's grip tightened on her. "He will not take you from me," he growled into her ear. "Not now, not ever." He rolled over so he was on top of her, hard cock brushing her cunt. "Do you understand, cstrisi? I am yours and you are mine. Yes?"

Clary smiled, though she still felt uneasy. "Yes, nyu vou sueni," she said, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Always."

He grinned, a crooked one that could make Clary's heart melt. "Always," he murmured, licking and biting at her neck. He drew back, looking concerned. "But I am worried about Sebastian," he told her. "He is a greedy and small man and he looks at you in a way I do not like."

Clary didn't want to tell Jace about when Sebastian had cornered her; he was headstrong and his emotions often took hold of him and she would not risk their alliance simply because another man found her attractive.

"But you know are only for me," she told him gently, quickly grasping his cock and giving him a few quick strokes; she felt him harden in her hand and he groaned, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes. He ground his body against her, instantly sending heat to her center. She felt him leak slightly, sending waves of pleasure rolling through the soft confines of her body. She clenched her legs together, trying to control herself. But he plunged two fingers inside her, scraping her walls, coating himself with her juices.

And he was inside her, too hard to tease her anymore. And as he thrust in and out of her, she felt something else move inside her.

A child.

The old woman's words came back to her, words that she knew would forever remember.

Words she would always know.

She had wanted to tell Jace, but something held her back. The old woman told her she was pregnant, but she wanted to be sure. She didn't to get his hopes up, but then again, did he even want children? She knew he needed an heir, but did that necessarily mean he even liked children? This was silly, she realized. She was certain that he would love her children as she loved him but there were of course doubts.

Did she want children? She thought back to that conversation she had with Helen so long ago.

She wanted to make sure.

And she knew exactly who she would have to see.

She orgasmed in a fit of spasm and the familiar feeling of tingling in her toes as they curled. Jace was grunting as he thrust into her, palming her breasts, playing with her nipples as she squirmed underneath him. He let out a growl as he emptied his seed into her; it made her pause again, thinking about the life that lingered in there.

Or not.

She had to be sure.

* * *

Magnus threw his arms wide open as he embraced Clary like a long-lost sister, crooning as he kissed her cheeks. "Clarissa, darling!" He cried out, grabbing her arms. "How glowing you look!" He was dressed in exotic clothing, with a magenta robe buckled up with a belt made from snakeskin. His boots reached his calves, made of some expensive dark blue leather. His hair was gelled, spiked upward; eyes were cat-like that usual. His shirt was flowing, a lilac color covered in tassels and strings.

Clary tried for a smile, patting Magnus on the back. "Thank you, Magnus, for coming so quickly," she said as she led him into a nearby hut, making sure no one followed them. The hut was small and secluded, smelling of smoky pine and filled with herbs and medical supplies. There were tasseled cushions rested on old plumped seats that made coughed out dust when sat upon.

The warlock shrugged, lazily loping into a nearby chair. "I am in the area, dear Clary. Not too much effort, I assure you," Magnus told her, giving her a pearly-white smile.

"I thought you lived in the White Cities. What are you doing in Idris?" Clary frowned, taking her own seat.

A look of worry crossed over the delicate features on the warlock's face but it was quickly replaced by his usual facade of collective confidence. He winked at her, a green cat-eye disappearing beneath his eyelid. "When you live forever as I, Clarissa darling, you tend to get bored simply staying put. I've decided to move out to a small hut in Idris, where I have a lovely view of the countryside and my own little garden," Magnus grinned at her. "Besides the not-so-friendly neighbors and the random raider attacks, it's quite nice in this area."

Clary looked at him suspiciously for a moment, but moved past it, and wrung her hands together. "I brought you here today because I needed your help, Magnus," Clary said, wondering how she would tell him.

"What is it? Are your hurt? Is it the King?" Magnus questioned her, eyebrows raised, looking concerned.

"No, no. I'm alright. It's a different matter. I-I have been experiencing symptoms, Magnus. Ones that concern me," Clary said weakly, playing with a stray tassel with frayed ends. Isabelle was the only other person who knew, due to the fact that she was there when the old lady had talked to her, but Clary had made her swear not to tell anyone.

Not until she knew.

Magnus leaned forward, looking interested. "What kind of symptoms, young princess?"

Clary took a deep breath. Have courage.

"I have pains in my stomach and I feel the need to throw up in the morning until there is nothing left in my stomach. My breasts are swollen and sore and I feel constantly tired. I can't sleep when it's too hot and I feel like crying or laughing every other day," Clary took another breath, picking at her fingernails.

Magnus smiled slightly, shaking his head. "It had to happen sooner or later," the black-haired warlock smirked. Clary looked at him questioningly, but he shook his head. "I need to make sure. Lean back here, Clarissa."

Clary obeyed and leaned back into her seat so her back was flat on the lounge. He wandered over to her, green magic sparkling along his fingertips. Clary watched them warily, never having witnessed his magic firsthand. His hands went to her stomach. "Lift your top just beneath your breasts, please Clary," Magnus instructed.

Clary frowned at him, but did it all the same. She felt oddly vulnerable, with her pale abdomen bared. Magnus closed his eyes, whispering words in a language she didn't know. His magic flared over her skin, making it translucent. Then his magic turned to red, and the warlock jumped back as if he had been burnt.

The red-haired girl scrambled to sit up, heart pounding. "What?" She asked, feeling breathless. Was she-? Could she be-?

Magnus was taking deep breaths, nursing his hand. "Red," he gasped. "Red. It was red." He turned to Clary. "When was the last time you bled?" He asked her suddenly, green eyes urgent.

"W-what? Do you mean my moon's blood? That was..." she trailed off, mind blank. When had been the last time she had bled? She was never late, it came each month exactly. But it had been one and a half months since she had. But...she struggled for words...it possibly couldn't be...

Magnus watched her, smiling serenely. "Your with child, Clary," he sai softly, taking her hands into his own. "I feel the child inside you. When the flame turns red, it means fertility. It means the impending birth. It means a boy."

It meant a boy come man, come King.

He will lead armies and conquer kingdoms and ride his own victory to the ends of the universe. Men will love and fear him, for he has the Fairchild blood inside him, as well as the blood of Old Idris.

A king slept inside her.

But what would happen when he woke?

* * *

The young Idrisian warrior looked both left and right, his footsteps like leaves trailing along the water's surface. He blended in with the earth as shadows slink from the sun, bow in one hand, the other laying on a dagger in it's sheath. The forest hid him well; the thick brush of the land provided with cover as he slipped silently through the trees and the bush. He knew it was along here somewhere, the small cottage. The warlock did say it was well hidden...

He grumbled under his breath, but his ears were strained for any movement. There was a small path up ahead; he squinted his eyes as a little cottage came into view. He sighed in relief but quickly turned around, searching for anyone who might have followed him.

Not even the wind dared to move as the man's eyes scaled the area.

He began walking towards the little cottage; it was a small, but homely looking house, clumsily made from bricks. A small chimney protruded from the crooked roof, smoke blowing happily from it. A small garden was affixed in the front of the house, daffodils and daisies and all sorts of flowers blooming in the late summer sun.

A small, cobbled path led up to the front door of the house. The man walked cautiously up to it, slinging his bow behind his back. All did seem well, but he looked behind once again.

The birds chirped in the trees; the grass spun in the wind; the stream trickled clear, sparkling water.

The man sighed, hand going to knock on the flat of the wood door. It seemed eerily quite, something that unnerved the young Idrisian. There were hurried footsteps to the door; it was thrown wide open and the smell of incense and spicy herbs infiltrated the man's nostrils.

A delighted voice crooned, pulling the man in. "Alec, darling!" A sparkly warlock grinned down at him, taking the young man into his arms. His embrace was warm and seemed like homely to the Idrisian soldier. He stumbled in, surprised by the strength of the tall warlock.

Magnus Bane smiled down at him, urging him into a seat. But before he did, the warlock pressed his soft lips to Alec's, making his toes curl and his heart beat faster than it had ever done.

Even when Jace had smiled at him.

Or put his hand on his back.

Or acknowledged him in anyway.

The Koning of Idris made him feel a lot of things, but Magnus Bane made him feel a thousand things more.

Alec kissed him back, relishing in the warmth of his body, feeling light-headed as desire stirred in his stomach. Magnus pulled the two of them over to the lounge chair which was stuffed full of feathers.

The nimble-fingered warlock pulled back, kissing Alec lightly on his nose. "You look well," Magnus murmured softly, hands trailing down his face. Alec could barely speak so instead he nodded, eyes never straying from those intense green eyes that starred so frequently in his dreams.

"Would you like some tea?" Magnus asked him brightly, stroking the soft black strands of Alec's hair. "I have all sorts from the White Cities."

Alec tried for a smile. "Yes, thank you," he said stiffly, shuffling around in his spot.

Magnus smiled at him once more, something mischievous. He grabbed Alec by the collar, bringing him in for another kiss. "Don't be so formal, warrior. It's just you and me," he whispered, doing all sorts of things to Alec's body.

Alec nodded once more, slightly breathless. The warlock winked at him, before setting off into the kitchen, humming to himself. The young Idrisian leaned back into the lounge chair, exhaling as he examined the room around him. Full of spices and herbs and other sorts of concoctions, it was brim with strange bits of materials and fabrics and furniture.

Alec remembered first coming into this hut, only a few weeks prior to today. He had been nervous, but giddy, as he raised a shaking hand to the door and knocked, clearing his throat and called out his name. The door had opened and the warlock whom he had been thinking about since the first time he had come to Idris was there, looking so very handsome in clothes Alec had never seen before.

He had received an invitation from the warlock to visit him when Jace had been injured and he had been escorting Magnus to the gates. He had turned red and speechless, averting the warlock's gaze and stuttering out about how he was busy that day.

But the warlock had simply raised an eyebrow at him, amused. "I'll see you there," he told him, before walking away.

Alec had stared after him, mouth agape. yet, he didn't talk about it with anyone. He remained silent on the matter but was thinking about during his waking hours and dreaming of it in the nights.

The day came, but Alec was in a turmoil. He decided he didn't want to go and wrestled over it, but ultimately, he found himself on Magnus' doorstep, heart beating far too quickly in his chest.

And that was were he had his first kiss.

With a thousand-year old warlock who tasted like sweet cinnamon and apples.

Their relationship, Alec blushed when he thought of it, was strange in that they could tell no one that they were courting. Alec could tell no one of Magnus because of how dastardly the consequences could be. They met in secret, not too often in case it should raise any suspicions. Isabelle, very pregnant and very moody, did not notice him sneak away. Jace, infatuated with the foregin princess, did not see much these days.

Alec had never really liked girls. It was something he knew from when he was younger, when the wild Idrisian girls would try and kiss him, but he would scowl and push him away. Isabelle would laugh at him while he watched as Jace kissed the pretty girls and something green and hideous snarled within him.

He thought it was normal, that he was at that age where all girls but his sister seemed gross and annoying to him.

But when he was older, and he, unlike so many of the others boys his age, didn't care for the teats on a woman or the mound between their legs. While the other boys lusted after them, Alec turned away.

But he did notice one person.

The man who was like a brother to him.

The King's son, gold and tan and brave and handsome.

However, he knew he would never have him.

But Jace had never really had an interest in a particular girl, or seemed to like any of them. He only seemed interested in what they could offer him.

That gave him a bit of hope.

But that had been crushed and swept away into the wind the moment that the pretty, green-eyed foreigner princess had walked up to him at Olyeran's house. He had remembered that day so well; the flowing gold gown that lapped around Clarissa Morgenstern's ankles, her oiled, red hair flowing so freely in the air. How he had seen the look in Jace's eyes and knew instantly that there was nothing he could do as his King stared at the little princess.

Alec had never seen him so intrigued or fascinated by a woman before.

And his dislike grew of Clarissa as she and the Koning became closer and closer. How she and Jace would simply look at each other or brush their fingers over the bare of each other's arms.

He was a green-eyed monster of jealousy.

But as Magnus edged more sharply into the center of his life, Jace seemed to fade a little more. Of course, he would still love Jace, but as a brother.

He was snatched from his thoughts as Magnus came bustling back him, two cups of tea clutched in each hand. "Tea!" Magnus announced with a flourish as he set down the two cups on the hard oakwood table before him. "Here, Alec, darling."

Alec muttered out his thanks, sipping on his hot tea and nearly choking at the taste. But he drank it anyway, as not to hurt the warlock's feelings. Besides, Izzy's cooking was far worse than anything that even Magnus could make.

Magnus leaned back in the chair, sipping at his tea. "I saw you yesterday, when I visited the Koningin. You looked so handsome in your clothing," Magnus said innocently.

Alec gulped his hot tea down. "What were you doing there?" He asked.

"I told you. I was visiting Clarissa."

"Why?" Alec questioned.

Magnus considered him. "It's a secret, love." Alec's cheeks burned at the mention of the pet name.

"You said there were no secrets between us," Alec said, surprised at the force in his tone. He didn't like Clary, it was true, but there was a little part of his that was fond of the red-haired girl who was so fierce yet small and tiny. "You said so, Magnus."

The warlock was silent for a moment. "Very well. The Queen of Idris," he paused for a moment, taking another sip of his tea, "is pregnant."

Alec was aghast for a moment. "She's witch child?" He gaped, feeling shocked.

"If that's what being pregnant means, darling Alec," Magnus smiled at him.

"Has she told J-the Koning?" His mind raced.

"She said she was going to," Magnus shrugged. He set down his cup, his lips glistening from his tea. "But she made me promise not to tell."

The people of Idris has been worried about the lack of heir from the Koning's marriage. Their future relied on the child of the King, and no child meant no heir for Idris. Jace had told him that Clary was not yet ready for such endeavor, that she was still a child and he would wait until she would have him. Alec had admired him for that but thought it foolish all the same; the Koning needed an heir.

And there was one right now, in the foreign princess' stomach.

What chaos it could bring.

* * *

 **Hey y'all! What did you think? A little love for the Malec lovers!**

 **Anyways! Please review, ilysm all!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	28. Chapter 28 (The Joys Of Our Merry Ways)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 28. The Joys Of Our Merry Way**

 **Hiya folks! Here's another chapter! SO so so excited for you to read this, I hope you guys like this! I'm getting all these updates in for you guys because your my favorites! Anyways, thank you for all of your reviews! Made my day, as it usually does. Clace baby is confirmed and I can seriously visualize the child you guys. It's like right in front of my eyes. Please keep reading and enjoying.**

 **I've been binge-watching Riverdale again and I just realized how much worse season 2 was. It was disappointing to see how much worse it was compared to the first season. Next episode should be coming out tomorrow, so I'm really excited. Hopefully, it becomes better. Any Riverdale fans out there?**

 **Do you have any requests for what you want done for this? I'm still thinking about the story's ploy and what I'm going to change, but it's taking me while to decide what to do. I have Writer's Block when it comes to this, which is sad.**

 **Anyways, keep reading and reviewing please! I hope you guys like!**

* * *

 **-Clary-**

 **Chapter 28.**

Idris heard only screams that night; wails and shrieks that gripped each and every one in the kingdom, building fear in the hearts of men and women alike. The maids in the royal quarters whispered to each other, spreading rumors like the fires that plagued forests and grasslands. Each prayed to the gods for fortune and good mercy. The lights flickered and bled gold light as the night dragged through in painful seconds, merging into minutes.

Clary closed her eyes, brushed the sweat from her forehead and prayed to her God that all would be right. Her hands were slick with blood and her eyes were heavy with fatigue but she battled to keep them open.

"Ons benodig meer lap en warm water!" She barked at the two nurses who looked blank, but soon hurried away.

 _(We need more cloth and hot water!)_

Panting heavily, Clary crawled over to the bed. The room was hot and moist and smelt like the inside of the stables, but she ignored it as she dipped a piece of cloth into a bowl of cool water. Isabelle whimpered, hands clutching the sheets, sweat gathering in wells around her. Blood pooled between her legs, knees drawn up so that her stomach was bared.

It was past twilight when Isabelle had come bawling into her room, screaming her head off. Clary had stumbled out of bed, prepared for an attacker, but had found Isabelle leaning against her door, breathing hard as water dripped from between her legs.

Clary had stared at her for a moment, before regaining her senses and yelling for the midwife as they hauled her into the birthing room, where a couple other women were waiting expectantly.

How long had it been? Minutes, hours; she couldn't help but feel fatigue run heavy through her body.

Clary kissed Isabelle' sweaty forehead, wiping the hair from her head. "Shh...it's alright Isabelle. You've been so brave. You're nearly there, Iz. You're nearly there," she whispered to her black-haired friend, soothing her as the birthing mother screamed in pain, gripping the fur sheets more firmly.

Placing the wet cloth against her her skin, Clary clutched Isabelle's hands. "It hurts, Clare," she whimpered, her breaths coming out in shudders.

Midwives and nurses rushed around them; one held towels and a warm water, one whispered words of encouragement, another telling her to push. Isabelle's room was full of people, all bustling around them, shouting orders and comforting the expecting mother.

Isabelle closed her eyes, her teeth gritted and her breathing hard. "I know, I know. But you're doing amazing, Iz. Soon, your baby girl will be born," Clary said to her, smiling at the profound delight in her friend's eyes. Clary resumed stroking her hair.

"Alec..." Isabelle gasped, stifling a moan. "Where's Alec?"

"He's out on a raid with the Koning," Clary murmered to her, pressing her cool lips against Isabelle's burning forehead. "They're not here. I'm sorry."

"I want them here," Isabelle whimpered, a tear trickling from her eye, hatching down her face. "I want my brothers."

Clary pressed her lips together, nodding. "I know, Izzy. I'm so sorry."

Isabelle shook her head as she groaned, sweat running flush down her cheeks like tears. She took Clary's hand; the Koningin noticed how weak and pale her usually firm and strong grip was. "It's all right. You're here," the girl whispered, closing her eyes as her teeth bared with pain.

A young midwife, around Clary's age, walked up to her. "Koningin," she whispered to her. "There is man outside. He wants to come in." Clary frowned, rising to her knees. At a time like this, she thought, agitated. She rushed to the door, about to yell at the person who dared to interrupt them. Men weren't allowed in the presence of a birthing woman, as it was considered a scared moment, as the goddess of birth had decreed when she too had had her own children for the first time in history.

But it was Simon.

Looking lost and confused and panicked as worry gleamed heavy in his eyes. "Simon," Clary breathed as she pulled him into a quick hug. "What are you doing here?"

Clary cursed her stupidity the moment she said those words; he was obviously here to see his unborn child and birthing wife, but he did not seem to care. "I need to see her, Clary. I-I..." he started determinedly, but trailed off as he heard another one of Isabelle's screams.

"I'm really so sorry, Simon, but men aren't allowed to come into this room. It's sacred, and, well, you're-you're a-"

"A slave?" His brown eyes blazed as he drew his height up, suddenly so much taller than Clary. "I have to be there for her!"

"Are you going to push me?" Clary quietly asked, but there was something hard in her voice. "Are you going to hurt me?"

Simon deflated, looking crushed and Clary felt guilt course within her. "No. No, I'm sorry, Koningin," he said, looking dejectedly at the ground.

Clary put a hand on his shoulder. "Leave, now, and come back later when the others are gone. I will not let harm come to either her or your daughter, I swear it Simon of the Narmas," Clary told him in a stern voice, pushing him gently away. Simon blinked, looking surprised as Clary only smiled knowingly at him.

"Y-you knew?" Simon stuttered as Clary led him down the hall.

A scream resounded from the room; Clary winced, but Simon looked fully prepared to charge back into the room. "No," she told him. "Come back when the sun rises and the moons have melted back into the earth."

He reluctantly nodded, but glanced over his shoulder before heading away. Clary quickly ran back to Isabelle's side, where she was yelling at the middle-aged midwife who had a hooked nose and a mean look about her. "Push!" The midwife urged as Isabelle belted out curse words at the top of her lungs, body writhing. "Push, Isabelle!"

"I'm PUSHING!" Isabelle shrieked at her, fists curled up into balls as her grip ripped the sheets beneath her, a motion that made Clary try even harder to soothe her.

"You can do it, Isabelle. You're one of the strongest people I know," Clary whispered into her ear, clutching her hand, stroking her hair.

"I see the head!" The midwife cried out; Isabelle's eyes rolled to the back of her head as she screamed once more, hands pulling at her hair. The maids stared at her, each offering words of comfort as some went to help set up more buckets of hot water, others wiping the sweat from the perspiration that coated Isabelle like a second skin. Clary was so amazed to see how these women came together, so they could support a birthing mother. It was something magical yet had a sense of beautiful realism that was oft common.

"She coming out!" The midwife cheered; the others clapped their hands in delight and rushed to help deliver the arriving babe. Isabelle looked completely drained, yet a look of determination was set firmly on her face. She groaned, before bracing her hands on her knees and gritting her teeth in exhaustion. "Nearly there!" The woman between Isabelle's legs crooned at the woman in labor.

Isabelle let out one more shriek before collapsing back down onto her bed, head falling down onto her feathered pillow. A small wail emitted from between the sheets. "She is born!" The midwife celebrated, holding up a crying babe covered in blood and other liquids and such that made Clary wrinkle her nose.

The babe was cleaned in the warm water and washed so that she was clean and soft and wide-eyed with red cheeks. She was wrapped in a cotton blanket so only her tiny face was shown from the folds of the sheet.

Isabelle, still looking beautiful despite the heavy bags under her eyes and the fatigue that gripped her delicate features, held out her arms, face lit up with a smile. "Give her to me," she murmured softly. The midwife soundlessly walked over, placing the tiny crying infant into the waiting cusp of Isabelle's arms. Clary sat down next to her, their arms pressed together as they looked down at the babe who gurgled and cried at them.

The little girl was absolutely beautiful; she had big, wide eyes that were the becoming of her mother's, doe brown and hung with long dark lashes. A head of silky chestnut brown hair adorned her scalp. A perfect, bow-shaped mouth, colored pale pink, was puckered up into a toothless smile. Rosy-red flushed her round cheeks, giving her pale skin a pink blush.

"She's absolutely gorgeous," Clary whispered to her friend, giving Isabelle's shoulders a soft squeeze. "Just like her mother she is."

Isabelle nodded absent-mindedly, her eyes never straying from her child. "She has my eyes," she muttered, slender fingers stroking the soft curve of the child's cheeks. They were fearful, almost afraid to touch her skin.

And her father's hair, Clary thought, but chose to keep it to herself. Instead, she touched Isabelle's hand, which was intent on holding her child as closely to her as she could.

The maids and widwives began to pack away their things, cleaning up the messes both they and Isabelle had made along the child's birth. They each came up to Isabelle, wishing her child good fortune and that the gods would look kindly in her favor. She thanked them each, but still refused to gaze away from her daughter's face. "You should feed her," the midwives told Isabelle. "She'll be hungry."

They left, Isabelle smiling fondly at them as they walked out. Sliding down her gown, Isabelle popped out a breast, guiding little Kiarna's mouth down to her nipple. The babe latched on almost immediately and began to suck quite happily.

It was well dark now, and not much light came from the candles that didn't do much to chase the shadows that crept up on the walls. Isabelle was murmuring words of contentment to her little girl. Her daughter seemed to be just as enthralled with Isabelle, cooing and gurgling at the sound of her mother's voice.

Clary smiled down at her friend as her daughter fed from her breast. "Do you have a name for her?" She whispered, as the child was now fast asleep.

Isabelle looked up at her for the first time since laying eyes on her daughter's. "I thought that Kiarna was the perfect name for her. What do you think?" She asked, happily dazed in her joy.

"I think it sounds wonderful." Isabelle blinked, and Clary realized how tired she must be.

"I'll take her if you want, and set her down for her sleep. Is that alright?" Clary asked her, motioning for the child to be placed in her arms. Isabelle looked, hesitant, at her child before allowing her to be lifted up and placed in Clary's arms. Her mouth left the nipple with a slick pop, crying out a little as she did. "Shh...it's alright," Clary cooed to her, rocking her a little in her arms as she did.

Isabelle smiled at the pair of them, eyes becoming heavy with sleep. Her head tilted to the side and she sighed out, the sweat finally drying on her forehead.

"Sleep," Clary soothed her with murmerings and king words; soon, Isabelle was fast asleep, snuggling into the thick fur blankets and the sacred maiden's shawl that was wrapped around her shoulder's.

Kiarna was so small and weighed not much more than a large rock; she too was fast asleep, little pink mouth open slightly as she breathed in and out, puffing out each breath as she lay contendedly.

Clary stared down at the tiny babe in her arms, taken away by just how small and beauitful she was.

It was then that she was reminded of her own child, living deep within her womb.

Brushing her lips against the flat of Kiarna's forhead, she set her down in her crib, stroking the silk-soft curls of hair that sprung around her face. "Sleep, little Kiarna," Clary told the baby. "You'll be just like your mother, I imgaine. A warrior and a goddess alike. You'll hold a spear in your hand as soon as she did, if you're truly her daughter." She smiled to herself, before settling down in a chair, drawing her aching limbs up to herself.

She drew her hands up to her stomach, where it had began to swell. Her son lived and breathed in there; this thought filled her with a sort of love and fierce protectiveness that threatened to overwhelm her.

No one would harm her child, not while blood flowed through her heart and breath took to her lungs.

No one ever would.

And she began to sing, to both of them, to all three of them, a sweet, simple song that made her think of the birth of Spring and the summer rains and the smell of sugar grass.

...

There was a slight knock on the door; it sent Clary scrambling from out her chair, her back aching with pain and her limbs groaning. She brushed her hair from her eyes, quickly checked on Kiarna. She was still sound asleep, snoring as she huddled in her blankets. Swiftly, she gathered to her feet, rushing to the door. Swinging it open, she was not surprised to see Simon there, urgency gleaming in his determined brown eyes. "Simon," she smiled at him, opening the door a little wider.

"Clary, please let me see them," he begged her, sounding slightly desperate.

She nodded this time. "Of course," she said graciously, allowing him in. He stepped past her, hurrying to the crib. He stared down in utter shock as he watched the tiny little girl yawn, plump cheeks moving as she did so.

Clary headed over to Isabelle, who was still asleep. "Izzy," she prodded her gently, hands over her shoulders. "Iz." Isabelle muttered in her sleep, grumbling as she snored.

Graceful as a princess she was.

Clary felt slightly bad for attempting to wake her, but she had slept for nearly a day now, and she needed to eat. "Izzy!" Clary hissed, poking her in the shoulder. Isabelle sat up, yelping a little as she did. Despite her frantic hair and the bags under her eyes, she still managed to look beautiful.

"What?" She growled, a little terrifyingly. But as soon as she saw Simon, her gaze softened and a pink flush grew in her cheeks. She stared at him as he wondered over to her, taking her hands into her own. Clary took this as her cue to leave, and headed for the door.

"Clary?" It was Isabelle's voice, small and humbled. Clary turned; Isabelle was looking at her, a small smile on her face. "Thank you," she breathed, as Simon carefully brought Kirarna over to her.

"It's alright, Iz. Just behave yourselves," she grinned at the pair of them. And with that, she closed the door and made sure that no one would ever come and interrupt them.

* * *

 _A child born of the First Folk and the Blood of Old Idris..._

Clary swallowed as her hands rested across the flat of her stomach; however, it was feeling much more rounded than it usually was. Clary had taken to wearing more flowing dresses so as to hide the slight bump of her stomach. The morning sickness had been as bad as ever, violently taking her each morning.

But as she felt the life moving inside her, she fell more and more in love with her unborn child. Her son.

It had been days since the birth of Isabelle's child; a ceremony of honor had been performed on the child, as it was born an Idrisian native. The priests blessed her daughter, and said that her beauty would one day make even the gods jealous.

And Simon, glowing with pride, had watched from the sides as Isabelle held up her lovely child for all to see.

However, Clary had other matters that took her attention.

Jace was returning from his raids of the raiders in the forests today; he had been gone for a week, and Clary missed him tremendously. She saw the first few horses trickle in, the men laughing with each other as they hauled in goods and pillage. They each bowed respectfully to her as they came in, gifting her with the best piece of their treasures. Some golds and silvers, jewelry that was adorned with small charms and silks and cloths that were made of the strangest colors. Clary quickly requested for them to be put away; a handmaiden whipped them back to her chambers.

She smiled slightly at them, but her gaze searched for their King.

The warriors, like the people, had come to respect and follow Clary as their own. There were still the few, the older generation, who resented Clary as they had been the ones who had battled against Alicante and nearly lost their lives in the process.

But she hardly paid them any attention.

Her heart rang a little faster when she heard a familiar voice break out from the crowd, followed by raucous laughing. Her eyes met gold irises and a heart meltingly familiar smile that made her knees feel weak.

But she was a Koningin of the Idrisian people and she did not fall because of a man.

He led his usual black mare in, jumping off. Clary couldn't help but admire the fine muscles in his arms, the lean yet hardened build of his body. He walked to her, picking her up like she weighed nothing and kissed her, in front of all to see. "My Koningin," he roared happily, spinning her around as she laughed, hands on his shoulders. The others stared, surprised by such a show of affection by the usually strong and silent Koning, who rarely even smiled.

"My Koning," she smiled down at him, stroking his blonde curls from his eyes. His jaw was streaked with stubble, which gave him an older look, a more mature one. Brushing her thumb along his jawline, she kissed his cheek. "How are you, nyu vou sueni?"

He set her down, calloused hand brushing over her head of red curls. They started to walk away from the yards, heading through back to their room. "It was a good raid, cstrisi. We got many treasures, many which I have won for you," he told her as she led them back to their bedchambers, Jace's hands slowly massaging her buttocks. She stifled a moan as she pushed him onto their bed, kissing him slowly.

"I have missed my beautiful wife and her body," he said into her ear, making her body do all sorts of delicious things. As his hands went to undo her laces on the dress, she stopped him, feeling nerves building in her stomach.

"Wait, Jace," she murmured softly, holding his hands in her own.

He frowned, leaning forward so that their noses almost touched. "What, cstrisi? Are you alright?" His warm hand touched her cheek and she leaned into his palm.

She smiled at his worry, shaking her head. "No, love. I have...news," she told in a shaky breath. She felt slightly faint, not knowing if she would ever be ready for what was to come. Would Jace be ready? She shook her head slightly, steeling her nerves.

His frown deepened as she saw her expression. "Are you hurt?" He asked, slightly frantic as she struggled to tell him what lived inside her.

She took a deep breath, clutching onto his hands tightly. "I am not hurt. Maybe even the opposite of it. I had Magnus visit me, only last week. I needed to know, and now I do. I," she bit her lip, exhaling in order to calm herself down. "I am with child, nyu vou sueni. I was told I have a son inside me. Your son," she whispered to him, smiling to him as she cupped his face in her hands.

For a moment, he just stared at her and she was suddenly worried that he didn't want a child and she-

But all her negative thoughts disappeared as he laughed out loud, swinging her around and peppering kisses all over her face. She had enever seen him so happy before. She giggled at him enthusiasm as he gently set her down on the bed, forehead touching her own as they stared into each other's eyes.

He leaned down, and cupped her swollen stomach with his large hands. Her fingers tangled into the thick curls of his golden hair, her heart humming with pure joy. He kissed her stomach, tracing it with his calloused thumb.

"My son," he murmered, rubbing the soft skin of Clary's belly. "Jy sal 'n goeie kryger en 'n nog groter Koning wees as wat ek ooit sal wees. Wat 'n fyn jong man wat jy sal maak, en hoe trots jou ma en ek is alreeds. Jy sal sivilasies afbreek en leërs beveel en die wêreld onder jou heerskapper bewe."

 _(You will be a fine warrior and an even greater Koning than I will ever be. What a fine young man you will make, and how proud your mother and I already are. You will tear down civilizations and command armies and make the world tremble under your rule.)_

Clary sniffled, feeling something like blazing glee thrive in her body. He wanted her child; their child. Her son and her husband; what joys of life there were to be had.

He rose his head, those beautiful tawny eyes boring holes into her's. "And to my son's beautiful mother," he said to her, "the love of my life, my cstrisi and now, mother to my child. How happy you have made me, love." She began crying now, feeling overly emotional as Jace held her, strong hands all over her body. "And how you have grown, my love, as our son will. Your fire lives in him, you will see."

"Nyu vou sunei," she whispered, tears pouring down her face. He kissed her tears, holding her stomach, and her son, who grew stronger inside her every day.

All was well and right with the world.

* * *

 **What do you guys think? Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	29. Chapter 29 (A Promise of Health)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 29. The Promise of Health**

 **Hey guys! Here is another chapter, sorry I haven't been active for so long but I have been super busy! Hope you like this chapter though, worked hard on it! You will see more development, so keep tuned!**

 **Please read and review and I hope you guys love it! Kisses to all!**

* * *

 **Chapter 29.**

 **-Clary-**

The first workings of daylight played across the vision of Clary's eyesight; she groaned slightly, still thoroughly submerged in her deep sleep. She had dreaming; of what, she did not know, but she remembered it with much fondness and was sad when she could not think of it. A hand, warm and gentle, touched her cheek and she forced her eyes open, smiling when she saw Jace, sunlight glowing in shine of his hair. He was wearing a fur vest and his usual cleats with daggers hung by his side.

He kissed her forehead, a quick press of his lips resting against her skin. "Cstrisi," he murmured, grasping her hand, playing with her thin fingers, rubbing her skin gently.

All the symptoms were there now and Clary was plauged with a sore back, swollen ankels and continuous nausea that threatened to over take her entirely. Most days, she required Maiea to help her walk down stairs or even bend over.

She let out a sigh, working the stiff muscles in her back as she encouraged her body to sit upright. As usual, her hand immediately went to sit on the curve of her stomach, eager to meet the kicks of her unborn son. He was so strong, like his father, and it delighted both Clary and Jace to feel him move within her stomach. "How is our son?" Jace asked her, lips tracing patterns into her temple. His hand intertwined with her own as she sighed in complete contentment.

"He grows stronger inside me, nyu vou sunei. I feel him and his fire," she told her husband, who grinned crookedly at her, breathing her hair in as she nuzzled into his neck.

"It is your fire too, love. It is your strength that makes him so strong," he whispered to her, making her skin erupt into tingles as his warm breath brushed against her skin. It seemed recently that whenever he even looked at her, Clary would feel heat start to slowly pool in her center.

"And your's," she told him, cupping his cheek with her hand, thumb brushing over the hard bone of his jaw. His forehead rested against her's and for a second, they were simply just a young boy and a younger girl, desperately in love. But then there was a noise off into the hard distance and Jace, who's golden eyes were looking so intently into her's, turned away, hand slipping from her stomach.

"Cstrisi, forgive me. I have business with Malachi, and the other Elders," he murmured to her. "And we have to announce your pregnancy. People were beginning to think you could not make a child."

Clary smiled at him adoringly, fingers etching the scars along his chest. "We did not have sex for quite a while, my Koning. And even in Alicante, without no heir, the throne's security is at risk. No one will follow a leader who cannot give them a future," she said, brushing the thick, blonde curls from his eyes. His hair had grown quite long now, but it suited him still, making him look even more handsome. When she grew bored or tired, she had taken to braiding his hair back into little plaits. She noticed that he did not take them out.

"Let them talk, love. Let them say what they like." She closed her eyes and inhaled his smell, a rich, spicy smell that she adored.

"I will be back soon, cstrisi. You stay in here, sleep. And you too, my son," he kissed the bare skin of her stomach and she beamed at him, and his love. He got to his feet, looking impressively tall as he did so. He was beautiful in a way that made her feel so happy that he was her's. He was a dark shade of gold that made his skin glow, his blonde halo of curls long and silky. He had only grown bigger in the past moons, his entire body hard and lean with thick muscles.

But it was his soul that was kind and good and honourable; it was what he was.

It was his soul that Clary had fallen in love with.

Pressing her lips hard against his own, she nearly moaned when she felt his talented tounge trace her lips. Her arms looped around his neck, and she tried to bring him closer to her body. His hand, teasingly and in a way that made Clary feel like she was fire, went to the cusp of her breast, fingers toying with her nipple, which pebbled instantly under his hot touch.

However, before it could escalate, Jace seemed to pull back from her and hesitated, which was strange to Clary. His eyes seemed wary, his hands even more so.

He had never really hesitated before.

And he was gone all too soon, but not before kissing her gently goodbye and leaving her alone in bed. Clary let out a breath, settling into her sheets and furs. Jace had been unusually gentle with her lately, as if afraid he would break her. She rubbed her belly again, eager to feel her son's kicks. He was so strong already and she couldn't wait to meet him, hold him in her arms.

However, there were other things that she had to do before them as well.

She lumbered from bed, quite eager for a hearty breakfast. She gathered in the eating space, where each person sprung respectfully to their feet. She waved an airy hand, dismissing them. Maiea was chewing quietly on a slice of buttered bread, her small hands barely able to pick up a mug of milk. Clary brushed her hand over the little girl's head, feeling the springy curls. "Good morning, Maiea," Clary sung, feeling exceptionally cheery.

The girl blushed and smiled shyly back, swallowing the last of her bread. "Good morning, Koningin," she said quietly.

Clary took her place at the head of the table, feeling particularly fond of every one in the room. Even Alec, who sat by himself, was some one Clary had learned to get along with, but only under very specific circumstances. Maiea eyed her as Clary dug into some fresh eggs and gulped down freshly-squeezed orange juice. "Forgive me, my Koningin, but you look very happy today," the small, dark-haired girl commented, looking down at her small hands.

"I am just very, very grateful today, sweet Maiea," she told her, touching her arm in a comforting way. She had grown very fond of the girl, the small, fourteen year-old who spoke many tongues in such a way that most adults could not. She slept with three other women in a room in the servant's quarters, and got along well with them. She had ordered Jordaan to guard her and was sure that no one would ever harm this sweet little thing again. At first, her ever-loyal soldaat was reluctant at leaving his Koningin unprotected, but he seemed to be complaining less and less now that he spent time with Maiea. "And I am excited for tonight as well. And we need to get you ready for it as well."

"What is tonight?" Maiea asked questioningly, voice hesitant and eyes wary with lack of confidence.

Clary rose to her feet, stomach full and satisfied at her morning meal. She took Maiea by the hand, leading her to Clary's bedchambers. Before they entered, though, Maiea seemed a little uncertain. "Are-are you sure the Koning will mind me in here?" She stuttered, hand positively shaking in Clary's.

The Koningin frowned but got it almost immediately. Maiea was about to enter the room of the man who had stolen her from her village and raided her village, killing men, women and children. Of course she would feel scared, Clary cursed herself. She grabbed Maiea's other hand, as gently as she could possibly manage.

"I was you once, Maiea. I was given to a strange man by my brother, sold off like a brood mare to the highest bidder. Every night I spent here, I wished I were someplace else. But I learnt to love this place like my home. And no one will ever hurt you again, I swear it. I will protect you from anyone who would bring you harm," she told Maiea gently, squeezing both her hands softly.

The dark-haired girl blinked, seemingly taken aback. "Thank you, Koningin," she breathed, sniffing a little.

Clary smiled at her. "Clary. My name is Clary," she scolded her, but there was no bite in her voice.

Maiea looked hesitant. "Clary," she said slowly, like a young child trying out a word for the first time.

"Perfect. Now, we have to get you ready," Clary said, steering Maiea down into her seat so that she was pointed in the direction of the coral-lined mirror painted blue and gold, a gift by Olyeran. She mused, remembering him, as well as how his eyes had followed Jonathon so intensely.

I would have offered you to him, but you aren't to his liking.

Clary understood that now, even if she didn't then. She began to braid Maiea's thick, brown hair, struggling to pin down the bouncy curls that clung close to her scalp. "What is the ceremony tonight?" Maiea asked her softly, not even wincing as Clary pinned down her hair, oiling it down with a sweet lavender fragrance.

"Every time a baby is born in Idris, it is presented to the royals and bathed in holy water, from the sacred springs of Lost Grevas. It is said that the baby will then be protected from evil spirits and envious ghosts and will make sure it is not consumed by their greed and hatred," Clary explained, smiling down at her. "And now, for your dress..." Clary walked over to her wardrobe, where she selected a beautiful, silky blue dress that spiraled down to the hem and curved between the breasts.

"Put this one," Clary ordered Maiea, who stared at the dress in awe.

"I-I don't think I could wear it. It's yours," she blabbered, stepping away from it.

"Come on," Clary coaxed her. "Your Queen demands you." Maiea quickly slipped her clothes off and put the dress on, pulling up the blue straps to her shoulders. It suited her well, Clary thought. Maiea was so slight and small, much more so than Clary, so it was a little big on her but still fit her comfortably. Her small breasts showed through and she blushed at the sight of them.

Maiea so often reminded her of herself, back when she had first come to Idris. Clary guided her over to the mirror, where two girls blinked back, staring at them. "Pretty," she told Maiea, who looked down at her dress in awestruck. "And we still have much more work to do," Clary frowned, musing. "Perhaps we could get Jordaan to help us."

Clary grinned as red flooded Clary's cheeks once more.

* * *

It was dark, for the harsh will of the night had fallen upon Idris. While there were torches and flames to guide the dark oasis, it was still hard to make out much. A harsh pain, but a dull one, flew up inside of Clary's stomach. She winced, clutching at her stomach and breathing in sharply through her nose. Jace, who missed nothing, looked at her, concern in his bright gold eyes. He leaned over to her, face contorted in worry. "If you like, cstrisi, you can leave and take to the bed. It is getting late now and you need your rest," he murmured to her, taking her hand gently into his own. The night was plagued with chills, only the barest of late summer winds picking up into the air, but Jace's heat warmed her nearly immediately.

It had been a long night for Clary and she was feeling very tired; nearly the whole village had come together to celebrate the birth of an Idrisian, something that united even the surliest men and turned their bitterness in joy. They gathered in the gardens of the castles, food stacked high and great on groaning tables, decorations and dances created for the newborn daughter of Isabelle, the Blood of Old Idris.

There was lively music and the people laughed and danced and fucked. Bright lights and candles kept the mood fiery and calmed everyone down. Clary shook her head, trying for another forced grin. "It's nearly over," she told him calmly, but felt another wave of fierce kicked within her womb and winced slightly.

He was moving into her space immediately, warm body brimming with protection. "What is it? Are you in pain? You should go to bed, take Lykaios with you," he said into her hair, running his nose up her jawline.

She squeezed his hand, smiling faintly. "No, nyu vou sueni. It is not pain I feel. It is your son," she told in him a low voice, lest a stranger's ears could hear them. Jace smiled at that, large hands going to rest over her stomach. His boyish grin grew even larger as he felt their son move inside Clary. They were seated at a table, so their actions were concealed from any wary eyes. Another kick against her skin but Clary's pain was nothing but euphoria, her strength and joy fueled by her unborn child. They were in their own world for a moment, feeling the movements of their child within her, nothing but a pair of happy parents.

"And besides," she added, drawing meaningless shapes into his scarred skin. "Lykaios looks far too happy to be disturbed right now." She grinned at this last part, gesturing to the Druid wolf who sat slightly off from them, chomping down on some cow bones from the feast. At hearing his name, his ears perked up and his dark eyes spied Clary; he barked, wagging his tail. However, as he saw Jace touching the bare of Clary's stomach, he growled at him, still harboring a mutual dislike for the Koning.

Clary suppressed giggle at this, but Jace seemed less than pleased.

 _Men_ , she thought, exasperated.

"Koning!" A familiar voice called out and Isabelle, bright-eyed and cheerful as a new mother could be, stepped forward. Jace sighed and stepped away from Clary's embrace.

"Isabelle," he regarded her warmly, kissing her cheeks. "You look well."

"As do you," the dark-haired woman replied. In her arms squealed Kiarna, who had grown tremendously in the past few weeks. She was a beauty, no doubt about that; rosy cheeks, doe-brown eyes, a tuft of silky brown hair growing on her head. Isabelle presented her squealing child to Jace, who looked slightly taken aback as he stared at the child in Izzy's arms, looking reprehension.

He looked even a little...scared.

A fierce and powerful Koning, reduced to a wary man approaching some kind of beast? Clary watched this with enthusiasm, even amusement, until she leaned forward, helping coax Kiarna into his arms. "There you go," she whispered encouragingly, "cradle her body. Support her head against your arm." He seemed unsure, and Isabelle watched her daughter warily, but Clary had complete faith in him. Still, she could understand Isabelle's apprehension. The Koning was a beast of a man, tall and muscled and strong; Kiarna was a tiny, little thing, not yet strong enough to snap a twig in two.

But he held her, a mouse in the claws of a lion. Clary watched this with amazement, feeling something primal and urgent rise in her stomach.

And something else rose in her too; a thought, a shiver of one.

He was going to be such a great father.

A new song burst through her reverie and she glanced up. It was a couple's dance, one for people who were truly in love. She watched the people take the floor, reeling in their lovers as the others watched them, clapping their hands to the beat.

An idea came to Clary. "Come on," she said to Jace, who was still staring down at the baby clutched protectively in his arms. He looked up, confused, but realized almost immediately. Isabelle whisked her daughter from him, cooing to her as she screamed in delight at seeing her beloved mother again.

He still looked wary, but Clary looked up at him through her lashes. "Please," she asked him, a simple request. He groaned, but allowed her to pull him out to the floor. People seemed extremely surprised that their Koning had come out to dance with them, but welcomed him immediately as they gave them space.

He rarely ever smiled or looked happy when he was with them.

But he was smiling now, and Clary's heart wept in joy when he did, white teeth showing as he followed her, body brushing against her own.

Jace seemed to know this dance well and followed the steps with all the grace of a fluent dancer. Clary followed, having studied most of the dances in the Idrisian culture, but knew she mustn't have looked as graceful as her husband.

They first crossed their arms across their arms, walking in a circle around each other, as if locked in some combat. Their eyes never left each other, green battling gold as sparks and magic flew as they danced with each other. He grabbed her by the waist, throwing her up in the air, spinning her around as she swung her head back, pale throat exposed to him.

And they continued to dance, the music all the sound she would ever hear. He seemed to move like water, gliding and shimmering and he was something beautiful and amazing and magical all at the same time. The music suddenly sped up and their actions being hurried, more urgent as they crossed their arms and he spun her, warm breath fanning across the nape of her neck. She closed her eyes as ice-cold pinpricks of heat curled up her spine.

It ended all too soon and she was breathless, holding him close to her, arms around his chest. The people applauded them, cheering for their dance. Clary smiled at them, bowing slightly, still gasping for air.

Jace looked at her and something changed in his face; he stepped forward, hand grasping Clary's. He raised a hand for silence and the crowd quietened almost immediately. "My mense! Ek het nuus, gelukkige, gelukkige nuus. My lieflike vrou is by die kind. Ons sal 'n seun hê wanneer die volgende paar maan verander! 'N Prins sal gebore word en 'n erfgenaam Idris sal hê!" He shouted, drawinf Clary's arm up next to him.

 _(My people! I have news, happy, happy news. My lovely wife is with child. We will have a son by when the next few moon change! A prince shall be born and a heir Idris will have!)_

It could not have come to more of a shock to the Idrisian people; they were silent, agape for a moment, but imploded into chaos at the news. They cheered and rushed forward to each rub Clary's stomach and murmur blessings so that he would be protected in the womb. They also bowed down to Jace, who looked happier than Clary had ever seen him.

"Why did you decide to tell them now?" She asked him, after all the decorations had been taken down and the leftovers thrown to the dogs. They sat in the grassy fields, Lykaios scampering just beyond them.

He kissed her hand, slowly, making her feel slightly breathless. "Because," his aureate gold eyes pinned her down. "I looked at you and decided I loved you more than anything in this world," he whispered into her ear, making her shiver. "You and one more person." His eyes traveled down to her stomach, where they lingered until Clary nuzzled his stubbly cheek, tracing his jawline with her thumb.

"Thank you for everything," she told him, gently pressing her lips against his, tasting his own unique taste, smelling his spicy pine smell.

"And you, cstrisi."

"What does cstrisi mean?" She asked him, curious about the nickname he had long called her.

Jace pondered this, lips still on the soft of her palm. "It is an old name. An old one for a lover, for a soulmate. It means a lot of different things; my heart, my love, my everything," he said to her in a low voice. He inched toward to shell of her ear, were he lightly bit the skin, making her inhale. "My soul, my light. What about nyu vou sunei?" He questioned her, smiling into her hair.

"It is the language of the Dead Folk. The one my ancestors spoke and I do not know most of it, but I know a few words. I think it vaguely means my sea and suns, my earth and moon," she told him. A cool breeze spun through the air, dancing on Clary's skin. She shivered, and Jace pulled her in closer, lips on her collarbone. The grass below her was like a cushion, molding into her body.

"Are you certain you aren't tired?"

"I have never felt so awake."

She felt him grin and he bit her collarbone, making her shiver. Eventually, he was pulling at her clothes and she was fisting his cock and his tongue was doing wonderful things to her center, kissing and biting and licking.

Needless to say, they didn't go back into their room for quite a while.

* * *

 **What did you think, guysss? Please let me know in the reviews! I love them so, so much!**

 **-happinesstrap**


	30. Chapter 30 (The Cries of the Damned)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 30. The Cries of the Damned**

 **Hey you guys! Here is your chapter, I hope you like. I really wanted to continue, but I was like this needs to be shortened. I worked hard on this and many things from the past come to the present! I loved your reviews as usual and I cant believe we are nearly at 800 reviews! That's insane! I never thought this story would take off like this.**

 **I love to write and express creativity through writing; your responses make me feel great and I love all your support, it's simply amazing. I love how we all bond over this one thing we all love and share in our hearts. I can't believe we're at number 30 already, so pumped!**

 **A little bit cheesy, but it's really how I feel!**

 **As usual, please review, let me know what you think as well. I'm super excited for the next few chapters, I may post in a few days so keep an eye out! There may be some spelling mistakes in this, Fanfictions being a bit weird, but I'll try and fix it later. I love to know what you guys think, so let me know any suggestions it thoughts in the comments.**

 **Hope you all love!**

* * *

 **Chapter 30.**

 **-Clary-**

A river gushed clear, sparkling water and skidded roughly along the mismatched stones that sunk to the muddy bank of the river. Women dressed in leather and skinned dear dresses sat on their knees by the river, hauling heavy nets and spears into the water, laughing as they chatted amongst themselves. They were in a small village, another one of Idris's smaller dominions that lived near the border. The sun was bright but not as loud and hot as it was; the people, the animals, even the shift in the leaves knew that autumn was close, and winter not far behind.

It was a nice day, though, and most of the women had chosen to shed their skins, some of the young children even jumping into the water, splashing each other as they squealed, getting them reprimanding looks from the people around them. Their bare skin gleaned with slick sweat, some taking breaks to drink from leather containers.

As a school of salmon wiggled up the stream, the women quickly poised their spears. The water was split apart by a sudden onslaught of spears, some missing the fish, while others piercing staright through the belly of them. The women cheered as they collected their haul and smiled at one another, eager for the feast they would have tonight.

"Susters!" There was a cry from distance and heads turned to see a middle-aged woman hurrying toward them, looking joyous as she stopped before them, slightly out of breath.

A younger girl came forward, frowning. "Bruei, nat dit is? Is dit dringende nuus?" She asked, setting down her spear. The others gathered around the woman, looking curious as their kill was all but forgotten. Bruei's news was far more interesting; even the children stopped to come and clutch at their mother's legs, looking curious as their little faces looked up at the people around them.

 _(What it is? Is it urgent news?)_

The woman shook her head in delight, seemingly too taken for words. Once she did regain her breath, she clapped her hands. "Die koningin is swanger! 'N Kind roer in haar skoot! 'N Prins sal ons hê!" Bruei cheered as her greying black hair shimmered along with her in celebration. "

 _(The Queen is pregnant! A child stirs in her womb! A prince we will have!)_

The other women gasped, some unable to speak with delight. They gripped each other's arms, cheering with each other as they laughed in happiness. "N kind! Mag die gode hulle seën met 'n seun en 'n suster vir hulle volgende!" One of them murmured in prayer as the others gushed their praises.

 _(A child! May the gods bless them with a boy, and a sister for their next!)_

"En hulle sal elke Idrisiese dorp besoek, om ons en hul kind te seën! Besoek die tempels en heiligdomme, fees saam met die mense! Hulle sal ook hier kom!" Bruei added, which resulted in even more smiles and squeals as they celebrated amongst themselves.

 _(And they will visit each Idrisian village, to bless us and their child! Visit the temples and shrines, feast with the people! They will come here too!)_

It had been some time since the Koningin and the Koning had been wed and a baby had not been conceived. This had led to some doubt, but it was not so anymore. A child! A prince of the Idrisian people! "Hulle moet hierna kom om hul kind aan die wêreld te deel!" One of the old woman gushed, smiling as they started to gather their forgotten things in the heat of the moment. "Die Koning en Koningin in ons dorp! Hoe geseënd is ons!" The others nodded in agreement, smiling as their bored moods were lifted with the sudden news of an impending child.

 _(They are to come here next, to share their child to the world! The Koning and Koningin in our village!). (How blessed we are!)_

A shadow shifted not far off from the women. Sharp, dark eyes watched them celebrate from the bushes, a figure hidden carefully in the shrubs. At the news of the baby, a slight of light managed to snag his lips and he smiled, showing sharp, pointed teeth that gleamed in the sun. His left hand, with only three fingers, played with a slim knife. His clothes suggested he had been travelling for a while now due to his lank, dirty hair and dirt crusted into the sharp lines in his face.

A storm was coming.

And all the troubles came with it.

* * *

Holding the razor carefully in her hand, Clary slowly scraped back the hard stubble that grew on the hard planes of Jace's jaw. He hummed something to himself, looking content as his eyes drifted shut; Clary noticed he looked so much younger when he did. Nicking back a few more stubborn hairs, she dunked the razor back into the bucket of hot water. His other stubble hairs drifted aimlessly along the soapy surface of the foamy water and Clary watched them for a second, before returning back to the job at hand.

Jace let out a sigh as his hands wandered to the ever rapidly growing swell of Clary's stomach. He rested his forehead against the bump, murmuring something that Clary couldn't quite hear. Putting down the razor, her fingers sought their way through the thick blonde curls of his head. He still hadn't cut it, she noticed, but she had braided it more and more as the days passed.

Her husband kissed her stomach softly through the sheer material of her dress, hands skimming up the sides of her body. Once again, she felt urges she had never experienced so intensely before and wanted him to take her over the basin, fucking her until her eyes rolled to the back of her head and drool dripped from her mouth.

But he did none of that.

Instead, he rose to his feet, naked and glorious and beautiful as he towered above her, rough hands gentle on her face. "When we ride later, I want you next to me. Yes?" He murmured, lips trailing along her forehead.

Clary frowned, but nodded anyways. "Why, nyu vou sunei?" She asked him quietly, afraid to break the beautiful quiet they lived in.

"Because I will protect you there. And Alec and my vloedriders will be there too. Should you be in danger, they will be there to save you. No harm will come to you or our son, cstrisi," he said in a low voice, looking dangerous as he thought of what could hurt her.

Clary's delicate fingers trailed the hard line of Jace's jaw, wonderingly, as he closed his eyes in pleasure, looking content. "What do you think will happen to me on this trip?" She whispered to him as she clung to him, feeling him grow hard on her leg. She loved how big she could make him just with her body, what an effect she had on him.

They were about to leave for their trip to the villages, to visit the sacred temples and the people there for them to bless their son. Clary was excited, but always felt exhausted and drained; still, she looked forward to it.

He inhaled through his nose slightly as she smirked into his chest, moving her body into his warm, warm one, but he grunted, shaking his head slightly. "No, cstrisi. I will have you all day if we do so," he said to her, but something dark grew in his eyes. "And I will not risk your life. You will be safe, always." There was something fierce and determined and even slightly...scared? That grew in Jace's eyes as he clutched her closely, looking like a wolf protecting his pack.

Clary's thoughts turned sad as she cupped his jaw. "I am not your mother, Jace. I will not be injured, I swear-" she started but a noise from him cut her off.

He stared at her hard, looking angry as he pulled away and Clary felt cold and alone once more without his all-consuming heat to warm her. He glared at her and she glared back, hands curling into fists.

"I don't think you are my mother!" He snapped at her, looking stressed as he dragged his fingers through his hair. "Don't you use that against me!"

"I wasn't, Jace, I was just trying to make you see-"

"Get dressed." His tone grew flat as he turned away from her, back muscles tense with anger. "We're leaving soon. You are riding with me, like it or not." She wanted to scream at him for his irrationality, but instead ' _harrumphed_ ' and left the room, stomping as she did.

A great start to their trip, this was.

* * *

"Ah! Ons Koning en Koningin! Welkom by ons dorp!" A village leader croaked, coming forward on hobbled steps, knees shaking as he did.

 _(Ah! Our King and Queen! Welcome to our village!)_

Clary and Jace led into the village walls by horseback, the rest of their horde following in after them. The village had come in full-force, hundreds of Idrisians eager to see the new Koningin, and the child that stirred in her belly. Clary stared in be wonderment at their effort, strings of threaded beads and herbs strung up around the place, flowers gathered in piles; she saw blues, greens, pinks and all sorts as some of the villages flung them at her, eager to win her blessing.

Clary was dressed in a traditional dress, one that flowed to her ankles, with her hair pulled back into pretty braids with her neck painted with Idrisian symbols of ancient words and prayers. Jace was dressed similarly, except he wore a _shatarge_ , which was a men's wear for special events.

She smiled down at them from Callisto, waving as arms reached out to touch her own and her fingers trailed along hands, arms, faces. Jace rode in front of her, still stony cold. She kissed a little girl who was held up to her on the cheek, which made her blush and giggle, before glaring at the back of his head.

 _Idiot_ , she thought angrily.

They eventually reached the center of the village, where Clary forced Callisto to a stop; neighing, she slowed, snorting in protest. Jace quickly jumped from Axon, strong legs firm and muscled as he strode over to her, arms going to her waist but she was too quick and got off on her own, landing carefully onto her feet. She brushed off her dress, ignoring the exasperated look Jace gave her. The little children swamped her, taking hold of her hands and grabbing her dress; she laughed as they led her away to the a tall building, made of wood and stuffed with straw.

The elder waved her inside. "Kom nou, kom nou, jy moet honger wees. 'N Fees wat ons vir ons Koning en Konining voorberei het!" He told her in a strained voice, and despite the grimace of pain on his face, he bowed low as Clary was carried away from him.

 _(Come now, come now, you must be hungry. A feast we have prepared for our King and Konining!)_

Inside, there were tables upon tables of food stacked with all kinds of mouth-watering delicacies that made Clary feel like drooling as she stared. There were even treats from the far East, honey-cream pies and lemon meringue tarts that were rare in even Alicante. The servers in there sprung from their seats, offering up trays of food and small desserts that Clary accepted easily.

She was then led to her seat, a chair plumped with cushions and tassels. Lowering herself into the chair, women and children immediately seated themselves around her, eager to see the future Prince. They each queued patiently to touch her stomach, whisper blessings and gain her favor. "Jy glo, my koningin. Hoe gesond jy lyk. Wat 'n sterk seun wat jy sal maak," a middle-aged woman told her in a flattering voice, hand resting on Clary's swelling stomach.

 _(You glow, my Queen. How healthy you look. What a strong boy you will make.)_

Clary smiled at her, small, pale hands going over the roughened, worked fingers of the woman. "Dankie vir jou vriendelikheid. Ek voel asof ek nie weer 'n dag kan wag om my seun te ontmoet nie," she told the women around her, rubbing her stomach fondly.

 _(Thank you for your kindness. I feel like I can not wait another day to meet my son.)_

The mothers nodded eagerly in agreement, some clutching children in their own arms. "Toe ek gevind het ek was kind, wou ek haar so gou moontlik uitkom sodat ek haar kon ontmoet," a fellow mother piped up; in her arms was a small, dark-haired baby girl who yawned, making Clary's heart melt in adoration.

 _(When I found I was with child, I wanted her out as soon as possible so I could meet her.)_

Clary's hand went out to touch the little girl's cheek, cooing softly as she grinned, tracing the plump outline of her face. The baby girl yawned, showing off a toothless mouth. The other women smiled at the interaction and the mother glowed in pride as they did. "Ek wens haar baie geluk en hoop dat sy sterk en vrugbaar word," Clary said quietly to the child more than the mother, fingers still trailing the soft flesh of the little girl.

 _(I wish her much happiness and hope she grows strong and fertile.)_

Clary felt someone staring at her from across the room and looked up, fingers dropping from the child's cheek.

It was Jace.

Him and the others had come in, shedding their swords and weapons as a sign of respect. They had taken their place at the head of the table, grunting and gathering in groves. Jace grew much attraction from the females in the room, many blushing at the sight of their Koning, for whom many had not seen him since he was a young boy.

But, a man he had grown into.

Thick golden curls framed his hard, angular face, a face beyond handsome. Tall and muscular, he was every bit a regal prince that Clary had heard of in the songs she had grown up with. Golden, hot eyes burned every inch of Clary's skin, and her breathing turned heavy as his gaze dropped to her breasts, which had grown rapidly in the past few months, making her feel light-headed.

"Koningin? Is jy gesond?" A concerned-looking woman asked her, worrying lines crowding her forehead. Clary forced her gaze away as she put on a large smile, nodding.

 _(Koningin? Are you well?)_

The middle-aged women, Bruei she was called, tsked and raised a hand. "Die arme Koningin, sy moet uitgeput wees om heeldag te reis. En ook met die kind! Jy moet honger wees, liewe," she crooned, raising an arm for some food.

 _(The poor Queen, she must be exhausted from travelling all day. And with child too! You must be hungry, dear.)_

A pile of food was forced onto Clary's plate; slabs of juicy steaks, exotic fruits and vegetables, honey-baked white bread, rolls of buttery rolls, and tanks of sweet bitterfruit drink. Eating for two now, Clary eagerly ate almost all of it. both men and women came forward, bowing continuous as they gushed their congratulations and blessed her with gifts for their child.

While she ate, out of the corner of her eye, she watched Jace get steadily drunk as he ordered more and more wine. She scowled at him occasionally, feeling her son inside her to soothe herself, but ignored him else wise. His eyes were heavy and dull, his goblet being refilled every so often as he stared, surly and irritated, at the ground, looking half-asleep. Clary noticed that Alec glanced at him every so sudden, but said nothing.

Clary wished Isabelle were here, where she would march over to the man she considered her brother and slap him hard and tell him to not be stupid. However, the newly-made mother had remained back at Idris, choosing to take her rest into of travelling around Idris.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance as he drunkenly called for more wine, angrily biting into a sweet sugar roll.

It was near the late midnight; the toddlers were sound asleep in their parent's arms, the older children desperately struggling to stay awake as their mothers gently coaxed them back into their houses. The elder wobbled into the center of the room, raising his hand for silence. The room fell quiet and eyes turned to him as he held onto his cane for dear life.

He cleared his throat a few times, breathing heavily. "Idrisians, dit gee my groot plesier om ons koning en koningin by ons dorp te verwelkom. Ons sal vandag onthou, en die vreugde wat daarmee gepaard gaan. Ons dink aan ons toekomstige Koning, wat ons hoop groot en sterk sal word om ons in die oë van die môre te lei. Greet die Koning en Koningin! Geniet die ongebore prins!" He said hoarsely, raising a shaking hand in celebration.

 _(Idrisians, it gives me great pleasure to welcome our King and Queen to our village. We will remember this day, and the joy that comes with it. We think of our future King, who we hope will grow big and strong to lead us in the eyes of the tomorrow. Hail the King and Queen! Hail the unborn Prince!)_

The people in room cheered, raising their glasses and repeating the words. "Greet die Koning en Koningin! Geniet die ongebore prins!" They chanted in celebration, taking a drink. Clary herself took a sip from her drink, sweet and sour as it went down her throat.

 _(Hail the King and Queen! Hail the unborn Prince!)_

It was getting late when Clary felt her eyes droop and her bones grow weary with tiredness. Rising from her seat, she thanked the women around her for the meal and the drinks. They each crooned over her once more as she waddled through the crowd, feeling stuffed and overcrowded in the suddenly very small room. She breathed out as she asked a serving girl to escort her to her room; gracious and eager, the girl took her to a fine room deep in the village.

She glanced back at Jace, who was so very drunk in his chair, head lolled back, goblet held loosely in his hand.

Shaking her head, she walked with the girl, fighting to keep her eyes open. She was taken to a large room, made up of a big bed stuffed with blankets and pillows; Clary sighed in relief as she spotted a hot bath, drawn with lavender and soaps and cleansing oils. The girl asked if she needed anything else and Clary shook her head, smiling exhaustively at her.

She rather just felt like being alone right now.

It was quiet in her room now, with the girl gone. Clary sat down on the bed, toes just skimming the floor. Exhaling a deep breath, she let her hair fall out of it's braids, running her fingers through the thick tresses of her hair.

She fell back onto her bed, closing her eyes. Just about to fall asleep, she was drifting when-

"It's lovely to meet you, Princess." A thick, lilted voice suddenly came from nowhere.

Her heart skipping a few beats, she let out a strangled breath, sitting straight up as her hands clutched her stomach protectively, instinctively. In front of her was a dirty, middle-aged man with three scars running down his face. He was dressed in commoner clothes, which were torn and dirtied beyond any sort of respectable wear. Clary's eyes trailed down to his hand; two of his fingers were missing, the other looking horribly maimed.

She gathered her steel, ignoring her fear. "Who are you?" She demanded, slowly getting to her feet. Glaring at the man, her fingers inched slowly to her dagger which rested on her sheath.

He drew out a sharp knife, pointing it at her stomach. "Don't even think about it, princess. Or I will cut out your son for you and give him to you as a gift. An early present," he smiled at her, showing sharp teeth.

She took a seat, inhaling through her nose in an angry, barely-contained way. "If you do, my husband and my people will make you suffer the lifetime of a million men," she spat at him.

He just grinned at her, dark eyes shifty and lazy in the soft candlelight.

"What do you want?" She pressed him, fingers in the fake act of clutching at her sheets, when they were really just searching for her knife. She could feel it's cold blade kissing her thigh, but she couldn't be too fast or he would see-

"I've heard of your beauty, you must know," the man said, pointing at her with his dagger (her heart gave out a stuttered breath at this). "I've heard people say it, but I never thought you would look like this."

"What do you want? Money? Land? Riches?" She scowled at him, fingers inching closer towards her blade.

He smiled down at her. "No, princess. None of that. I want something far more precious than that."

Clary bared her teeth at him; one more inch, one more inch and he would be dead before me...

"I come from a village in the Isles of Silver, sweet princess. We are far from the Idrisians but somehow yet, they found us. They took me and my family from our home; I saw my friends die, the girl I loved taken for a savage's wife and my aunts and uncles slaughtered." He paused, looking at Clary more carefully. "I was only eight. My sisters and mother were raped in the fields before their throats were slit and my father was worked to death before they flung his body over the river," he said, becoming more and more enraged as spittle flew from his mouth.

"And yet, I still survived. And managed to escape too, with luck that I hardly believed was possible. I went across the Black Sea, to the West, where I was accepted into an orphanage. I left with a strange man, one who taught me strength. And I made a name for myself; an assassin named the the Red Fury."

"An assassin?" Clary's heart beat a little faster, her fingers pausing from where they were mere inches from her knife. "Someone sent you to kill me?"

He stopped, looking a little stunned, as if he had forgotten himself. "Yes, little princess. You have quite concerned a number of very powerful men who are eager to see you dead. Such fuss for such a little girl." He reached over to touch a red girl and Clary hissed at him, moving away.

"Who? Who sent you?" She demanded in a furious voice. She knew she couldn't do anything to anger or provoke him, lest she risk the life of her unborn son, but rage stoked her veins.

He shrugged, playing with the knife. "I cannot say, princess, but they want you dead very, very badly. Do you know why?" He asked her in a quiet voice. She refused to answer him, turning away. "You're a very important person, little princess. You've married one of the most powerful warlords in the lands, and now you carry his son in your womb. That child," he pointed at her stomach with his knife and her other hand wrapped itself around it, "is the heir to the Alicante and Idrisian Throne. He carries a power stronger than you would know. And if he claims Destheon's throne, his ancestor's birthplace, it would mean war."

Clary froze, her breathing harsh. Her son. Her little baby boy, with all that weight on his shoulders and he was not even alive yet.

"And little princess, you have to die. Lovely as you are, it would be in the interests of my benefactors to have you killed. And when your husband," he spat in anger, "finds your dead body, your son cut out, lying next to you, the Idrisians will regret ever having killed-"

He never finished his words as Clary, spurred by her anger, chose then to whip out her knife and slash him hard across the face. He let out a noise of fury, face dripping blood as Clary made for the door, crying out for help. She let out a shriek as something sharp buried itself in her side and gasping for breath, she fell to the floor, clutching her side in pain.

He climbed on top of her, wrenching her knife out from her side, making her cry out. Clary wiggled beneath him, thrashing her body from side-to-side; he slapped her hard across the cheeks and she spat into his face, trying to reach for her knife which had fallen in the fight.

He poised the dagger above her heart. "I will watch the blood flow from your body and your corpse struggle for it's last breath as your son lies beside you," he hissed, looking maniacal as he slid the dagger in, making her scream.

"No one will touch my son!" She shrieked, half out of anger, half in pain.

And then there was a sickening sound of a blade slicing through skin. Blood dripped down onto her dress, as the Red Fury let out a little gasp, looking down. Clary's eyes followed his and found there was a sword driven down his heart. His eyes met her's and he slid down, eyes wide open in shock.

Quickly, she wiggled out from under him and stood shakily to her knees.

Alec and Maiea stood in front of her; Alec, with his hands wrapped tight around the handle, looking pale with shock; Maiea, hands shaking as she quickly went over to her.

"Koningin!" She said in a hushed voice, taking her hands. "Are-are you alright?"

Clary stared down at the man who was so close to killing her, and might have done if he wasn't so caught up in his rage. He could have slit her throat, carried her body to the woods and thrown her out.

But his thirst for revenge through him over.

"Yes," she said in a flat, clear voice. "But we have a far bigger problem." She looked over at Alec, who stared back at her with wide blue eyes, for once, no hostility in them. "Someone wants me and my son dead."

* * *

 **Dun-dun-dun! Cliffhanger! You will find out Jace's reaction to the assasin in the next chapter! Hoped you guys liked it!**

 **Keep posted for the next chapter!**

 **Please reviews as well!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	31. Chapter 31 (Sweet Symphony of Revenge)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 31. The Sweet Symphony Of Revenge**

 **Hi guys! Because I love you all so, so much, here is the next chapter. I'm not too sure about this one, I might re-do it so let me know in the reviews if you want it changed or to stay the same. This is carrying on from the end of Clary's assassination attempt and it's all going on from there. I hope you like it, it was hard to write but I got it done in the end. I added a little post story part with Clary's mother, Jocelyn Morgenstern, and young Jonathon as well, which should be interesting. Hope you like!**

 **OMG! 800 reviews, thank you so, so much. We do have a lot to go before the end of the story, but I feel kind of sad! I love you all and your reviews, so thanks for everything. I am planning my next stories, so look forward to that as well!**

 **I will probably not be able to post in the next few weeks, I am going on holiday! Super excited, but sad I can't post anything. However, I will write while I am away so when I am back I will be able to post as much as possible, which is very cool. I will probably be gone for two weeks, but I cant wait to write more!**

 **Any good shows you guys want to recommend? I think I watch way too many, but I need to binge you guys! I'm watching the US Office, and I love it! I wasn't sure after watching the UK Office that it would be as good, but it's proving to be an awesome show. Finished GOT, Downton Abbey, other such shows.**

 **Bleh. Anyways, I hope you like drama cause it's coming up next. I may include something about Jace's past in the next few chapters, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Let me know if you want anything else, or if you want the Jace childhood chapter.**

 **Thank you all so much for your support! Please read and review!**

* * *

 **Chapter 31.**

 **-Clary-**

Jocelyn Morgenstern, in all her beauty and ethereal grace, sat on her throne with her legs crossed, looking off into the far distance. A beautiful crown, bejeweled with small glittering diamonds and emeralds, befitting the beauty of the queen, sat on her curls of red, silky hair. She wore long robes of green and on her dainty feet sat a pair of velvet heels. She looked lost in thought as she stared out into thew distance, eyes thoutful and dreamy. The stained, long-pane windows glittered as the bright, outside sun shone in and bathed the room with buttery-yellow light. There was a slight scuffle on the carpet and Jocelyn's head snapped up, but a smile crept onto her face. "Is that you, my sweetling?" She cooed in a soft voice, loud enough so that the person could hear.

The courtroom was silent once more; there was no one there, but then a pair of green eyes and shock of white-blonde hair shyly peeped back at her. She spread her arms and gestured for him to come. Jonathon Morgenstern, with flush, red cheeks and a wide smile meant only for his mother, rushed at her and launched into her arms and she hugged him tight. "Hello, mother," he said in a small voice as Jocelyn gripped her son in her arms.

She kissed his cheek, stroking his fine, white-blond hair. "What have you been up to today, little one?" She asked him as he curled up into her chest, large green eyes eager for her attention.

"Nothing," he said with a mischievous smile, which didn't fool her.

She tutted in a disapproving voice, but there was no venom in her voice. Only pride and joy as she cluthced her son in her arms. "How about I tell you a story, hmm?"

He nodded brightly, situating himself into a more comfortable position.

She smiled down at him, sighing as she pondered her thoughts. "Well, my sweetling, there was once a mother wolf and her young cub who lived in a forest together. It was a big forest, and a lonely one too, but the two wolves had each other. When it cold and dark during the night, the little cub grew scared and cried for his mother, not knowing of the dangers that lurked in the forest."

The young boy, who couldn't have been older than four or five, was enraptured with the story. He solemnly took in every word that she spoke and watched in endless fascination. It was obvious how much he admired and worshiped his mother, and how much he loved her as well as he sighed contentedly in her arms.

"But she said to him, 'do not be afraid my son, for there are far scarier things out there than strange noises. You will be a king one day, the alpha of the pack, the king of kings. Fear will do you no good in a godless place such as this.' And so the little wolf grew up strong and brave, guided by his mother's words. He became a good and fair king, inspired his people with his strength and lived happily ever after."

She looked down at her awe-struck son, peppering his faces with kisses as he squealed in protest, shaking his head.

"Mama!" He said in giggles as she tickled his sides, but looked too happy to stop her.

She did, though, sinking back into her seat. She frowned a little, fingers stopping in the midst of running through Jonathon's locks.

"Mama?" He looked a little concerned as he perched on her lap, poking her stomach. "Are you okay?"

She smiled a little forcefully, rubbing his head. "Yes, little one. But I have very good news for you, and your father as well." She took a deep breath, her long fingers clasping his little ones. "Have you ever wanted a little brother or a sister?" She asked him with ease, but seemed anxious for his answer.

He smiled, oblivious, shaking his head. "No, Mama. I am good."

She didn't seem too pleased with his vague answer but smiled anyways. "My darling boy, I have a child in my stomach," she told him.

Frowning, he looked confused. "Did you swallow him?"

Laughing, Jocelyn shook her head, kissing her head fondly. "No, I promise I have swallowed no children at all. I am pregnant, Jonathon. You will have a baby brother or a sister," she said to him, smiling delightedly at the news. Her hand went to her belly, rubbing it gently as Jonathon watched her with wide eyes.

Something dark stirred in his eyes as he watched his mother lay her hand across her stomach.

"A baby brother?" He asked quietly, little hands dropping to his sides.

"Or a little sister. Wouldn't that be great, my dove? A brand new friend for you to play with?" She said in a very exhilarated voice, obviously thrilled at the prospect at a second child.

Jonathon, on the other hand, didn't look too happy.

"Yes, mama," he said sweetly, giving her an angelic smile. "I would like it very much."

* * *

It was well dark now, with the bare fissures of translucent awakenings of morning slipping through the black blanket of night. Clary stared out into the endless swallow of dark blue, wincing as a needle slipped between her skin. The midwife, the only available nurse at the time, sent her a sympathetic look. "Ek is jammer, my Koningin, maar ons het niks om te help met die pyn nie," she said softly, as a warm mother would.

 _(I am sorry, my Queen, but we have nothing to help with the pain.)_

Inhaling deeply, Clary gripped the sheets so that her nails dug into the palms of her hand. "Alles is reg. Ek sal reg wees," she murmured, touching the midwife's hand in a comforting gesture.

 _(It's alright. I will be fine.)_

The woman, Bruei, nodded and continued to sew Clary up.

It had been a while since Clary had been attacked; since Alec had come in with Maiea and killed the man, leaving his corpse to be strewn at an odd angle on the floor of Clary's bedchambers. She was now being treated in a small, smoky hut with burning herbs for healing vapors. There were several bruises scattered along her body and a mild wound from where the knife had struck her in the side. It was luck and fate that her precious son was not injured at all, yet Clary practically badgered everyone to make sure he was fine. That he was not injured in the incident and he was still well and breathing in her womb.

She meant what she said.

No harm would ever come to her son.

Someone wanted her dead. Some person out there, with a vendetta, a motive, wanted her and her son dead. And apparently they were willing to send someone out to do it. She was suddenly overcome by shivers and her hand quickly sought the swell of her stomach, her body eager to seek comfort in her unborn son.

She was already imagining what he would look like; small and cute as an infant, strong and handsome as an adult. She saw him so many times in both her dreams and during the daytime, a sweet boy with blonde hair, maybe blonde eyes. Or could he have her red hair? Green eyes? She wanted him to be like Jace, like his father. Tall and strong and protective and fierce.

And maybe he would be like her as well.

Curious and intellectual, slightly shy but with a fire in him, a strength that ran in all the Morgensterns.

Her pleasure dropped at the thought of her brother.

Her son would never meet his uncle, or go near him ever again. He would never be allowed to suffer in the way that Clary did.

Never again.

She breathed out once again, breath hitching as the needle dug into her skin and finished in a neat bow. Slightly calmed by the image of her future son, she felt her shoulders relax. "Daar. Alles klaar. Jy moet elke dag elke dag die wond was met murtsheef om dit te keer teen infeksie," Bruei said in a soothing voice, touching her shoulder in reassurance.

 _(There. All done. You should wash the wound each day with murtsheef everyday to stop it from infection.)_

Clary nodded, thanking the woman quietly as she took a deep breath.

It was unusual how calmly she was taking this.

She knew her reaction should be fear and panic, something scared and scurried. However, she only felt a slow rage and an anger igniting deep, deep in her bones.

The person who did this, who orchestrated this assassin attempt, they would die.

They would suffer terribly.

Just as she was thinking this, there was the sound of raised noises outside and then a loud crash. Bruei, looking displeased, looked up and tutted, shaking her head in disapproval. "Wat gaan aan? Dit is 'n rusplek!" She scowled, standing up and crossing her arms. For a minute, Clary was blindly reminded of Bryta and how much Clary missed her and her father and even the people in Alicante who she never even talked to simply because Jonathon wished to alienate her as much as possible, make her feel like a stranger in her own home.

She missed being a child.

 _(What is going on? This is a place of rest!)_

There was a louder crash and a shout of protest and Jace, now completely somber and eyes blazing in hellfire, flew into the room, looking terrifying. Alec trailed in after him, sending an apologetic look to Clary. He stormed over to Clary, taking him into her arms with no restraint, breathing in her hair as she grunted with the sudden contact. She noticed that he was trembling slightly, which struck her as very odd.

Bruei made a noise of protest, looking afraid of this giant of a man practically swallowing Clary with his body but she sent the midwife a look of reassurance as her husband clutched her in his arms like he was afraid to ever let go.

He turned around, Clary still held tightly in his arms, and barked, "Uit. Almal uit."

 _(Out. Everyone out.)_

No one argued as they filed from the room, even a half-reluctant Bruei, who glanced behind her as she left. Clary gave her a half-hearted smile as she trailed out. She squirmed from her hold in Jace's arms, sitting down on the bed as she wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very cold and alone.

It was an awkward moment of silence that Clary hated very much.

"Someone wants me dead," Clary said in a very small voice, sounding most unlike herself. "Someone wants my son dead."

Jace let out a very uneven breath, sitting down next to her as he grasped her hands with his own, his fingers swallowing her own. "No one will hurt you," he said in a low voice, sounding very much like a provoked lion, his pack threatened.

Clary scowled at him, taking her hands away from her's. "Someone did just hurt me, Jace," she said, pointing to her waist. "And they would have killed me and our son as well." She turned away from him, holding back an onset of furious tears.

Jace didn't seem to know what to say.

But then-

"I wasn't there. I should have been there," he said in a tortured voice, burying his face into his hands.

Clary didn't know what to say either.

"My mother was everything to me," his voice was not so gruff and hard, but much more softer and child-like. Clary looked at him as he stared off into the dark night, her breathing soft. "She was very soft-spoken and gentle, but she had a fire, just like your's, cstrisi. Everyone, even my hard father who had been forced to marry her, loved her kindness and admired her strength.

I loved her very much." His voice had grown softer and Clary ached to reach for him, comfort him but she just listened. "And sometimes, I wish she was still here. I wish she would have met you and our son as well. She would have loved you both. She was strong, but she lost many children before me. Miscarried three times and had two stillborns."

Something in his voice broke a little, before he regained his steel.

"She cried a lot, because of her lost children. Her sisters and mother had also died in childbirth, but she was determined to bear a child. And I was born, and she couldn't be happier. She was everything to me; comfort in my father's cruelty and the burdens I bore of being a King to my people." He swallowed, looking uneasy, but Clary stared at him, enraptured. "And I was very sad when she died. I swore and drunk and fucked my way from grief, but there was no end to it.

"And my father, it drove him mad too. A sickness took him and he went insane; he begged the gods for mercy so that he would die too, like my mother did. I was only sixteen, then, and very, very alone."

There was silence once more and Clary couldn't think of what to say.

She crawled over to him on the bed, snuggling into his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. Taking his head and letting him burrow into the side of her neck, she stroked his blonde curls, smelling him in, the spicy, rich scent of pine and other spices that she learned to love so very much.

"We will be alright, nyu vou sueni. It will take more than one man to kill me," she whispered into his ear, kissing his cheek. "Our son will come to us soon, and we shall grow to be so happy and old. Nothing will happen to us, nothing will ever hurt our son."

He nodded sharply, tucking her head under his chin. She curled into chest, feeling so very safe and warm. "If I find the man who did this, I will tear his head off and give to you as a gift, cstrisi."

She laughed softly into his chest. "How romantic, Jace. A head is exactly what I've always wanted."

He laughed too, but his tone grew serious. "You will not go alone anywhere. Always make sure at least two people are with you. I will never risk your safety again or leave your side again. And I can only beg for your forgiveness for this, cstrisi. Everything I have done.'

She shook her head, kissing the side of his neck as their hands fell to her stomach, twining together as they felt the drum of three heartbeats. "I meant what I said," she said fiercely to him. "Nothing will ever hurt our son again. And you know better than anyone that I can take care of myself."

She felt him smile into her hair. "I can feel your stitches, cstrisi. And your other injuries." His smile dropped and Clary held him closer. "I want Alec with you at all times when I can't be there."

"Alec?" Clary's voice raised in protest. "He hates me."

"I will not have you hurt, ever again. Alec with always be with you, no matter what."

"Jace-"

"Nothing will ever hurt our son," he mimicked her words. "Alec is my most trusted friend and a talented warrior. He will protect you with his life, I swear it. As will I. Yes?" He asked her in a voice that nearly made her cry with it's desperation.

He was still just a very small boy, scared of losing those he loved. He was just a boy who wanted his dead mother, who grew up far too fast in a too short amount of time.

Just like her.

A young girl, who had lost her parents and everything which had been so dear to her. A young girl thrown into a life, strewn apart by her brother's madness.

They were still just children, acting at being adults.

"Yes," she whispered back to him, kissing him firmly on the lips.

* * *

 **Love you guys!**

 **It might seem like Clary forgave him too easily, but she knows what she's doing.**

 **Please review and keep an eye out for the next chapter!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	32. Chapter 32 (The Mad Woman Of Alicante)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 32. The Mad Woman Of Alicante**

 **Hi guys! I am really sorry that I haven't updated in a while, but I have been super busy with stuff so I can't update as frequently as I did. Trust me, I heard all your reviews and your pleads, so here you go! I hope you enjoy, things are starting to heat up now!**

 **There is a lemon in this chapter, so beware if you would like to skip. It is kind of a filler chapter, but it does set up some important things for the future and relate some things from the past. I hope you guys enjoy, and I would like to update even more because this story is slowly coming to a slow. It's sad to even think about it, but it is true.**

 **Do you guys have any suggestions or reviews? I really value your opinions and thoughts, so please comment in the reviews section. It is also a bit of a short chapter, but the next few will be really long ones (I hope) so look out for future ones as well!**

 **Please read and review!**

* * *

The cloak that had been wrapped around the Red Fury's shoulders was a fine one, soft fur skinned from perhaps a black bear or a newborn deer. Gold trimmings lined the hem in a pattern, fine lace strings holding it all together. It was a beautiful piece of clothing, perhaps a gift that would be bestowed, perhaps, upon a great lord or even maybe a king. Now, it was splattered in blood, staining the soft, smooth fur, dried into crusty spotting along the fabric. It was slashed along the seams, making it look disfigured and uneven.

Clary stared down at it from a distance, slightly afraid to touch it. But no, she steeled herself; she was a Morgenstern, and she was not afraid. Her fingers curled out from her fists, unfurling to reach for the soft material. Her fingers stroked up and down, slow and careful; breathing out, she closed her eyes.

She frowned as something hard and bumpy came across her fingers.

Pulling her knife from her sheath, she used the blade to cut the fabric open, digging her fingers into the handle as she violently sawed back and forward. She didn't stop until a warm hand came over her own, which was much bigger. Slender fingers, calloused and scarred, wrapped around her own. She sighed out, but still felt stress clawing at her chest.

"It's alright, cstrisi," a familiar voice murmured into her ear, warm body lining up with her own. "Relax."

She took a deep breath, leaning back into her husband's torso for warmth and support. His chin rested on her head and his muscular arms came around her, calming her almost immediately. Resuming her cutting, she dug her dagger more swiflty into the fabric.

Clary and Jace were currently back home in the main capital of Idris, in an unmarked room together. The Red Fury's cloak was spread out before them; they were looking for any sign of who the man actually was, and where he came from. It had been a few weeks since the incident had occurred; the news had been spread of the near-assassination of the Koningin; much to the chagrin of Alec, he was praised as a hero and revered for his bravery.

Once the fabric was split in two, her fingers dug around in the cut, searching. Her hand met something cold and small; she sought it out, pulling a small seal. It was a sign she did not recognize; desperately, she tried hard to remember her lessons with Bryta as a child, where she would force her to remember the ancient seals of each House. Two eagles were faced against each other, three swords crossed over the other. She handed it over to Jace, who examined it carefully with narrowed eyes.

"Do you know it?" She asked him in a hushed voice, careful to not disturb the carefully constructed silence.

He was quiet for a moment, before shaking his head. "No, cstrisi," he sighed, frustrated. "I do not know this symbol."

"Hm. Maybe Magnus would recognize this," she said, taking it back from him. "We should send this to him." Jace nodded in agreement; he closed his hands over Clary's, pressing his body into her's. She breathed him in and he was so wonderfully familiar, like pine and smoke and a rich, spicy smell that she loved.

"Are you alright?" He asked her in a husky voice, which made her feel all sorts of strange things.

She nodded, her face buried in the crook of his neck. "Yes, nyu vou sueni. I am fine, but I want you more than anything now," she whispered into his ear, gripping him tightly as he hissed, inhaling suddenly.

"Mm..." he hummed, taking her hands into his own, squeezing them softly. "Yes, cstrisi. That would be nice." He took the cloak and threw it off the table, picking Clary up as she squealed in surprise and set her down on the table. He kissed her eagerly, their teeth and tongues clashing together as they explored each others bodies as they had never done before.

Jace fumbled for the back of her dress, the other hand groping her engorged breasts; pregnancy had made all of her swell up, especially her breasts, which was something that Jace especially loved. She moaned under his touch, arching her back so her body was pressed up against him, grinding herself into his body. Slithering down his body, taking off his drawstrings, she looked up at him from under her lashes and took him into her mouth.

"Fuck..." he groaned in a fit of passion, fingers weaving through her hair, looking upwards. She swirled her mouth around him, taking him in deep as she reached around to grab his backside. "Cstrisi..."

He eventually came into her mouth and she swallowed, grinning as he practically tackled her to the table, her tiny body swallowed by his own. She spread her legs wide for him, wrapping her legs around his back. He thrust in and out of her with vigorous passion and they both groaned out; Jace's mouth latched around her breast, making her shudder out a breath as her sensitive nipples reacted intensely to his hot tounge as he bit down.

He began to thrust viciously into her, making her stutter as her breasts jiggled up and down with his violent movements.

"I love you, cstrisi, so much," he told her as he stared into her eyes, biting down onto her top lip.

She stared back at with with her heart so full of breathless love that she felt like crying. "I love you too, nyu vou sueni. More than the sun itself and the moons and the seas."

He came inside her, murmuring something sweet and gentle into her ear as she breathed heavily.

And the world was right once again.

* * *

It was early sunrise; no one in the building was up yet. Clary wandered the halls in deep thought, until a noise brought her out of her reverie. "I did not believe it when I heard." A voice, ghosted out from the shadows, reached Clary's ears; her entire body slighted in a mode that screamed danger, danger, danger. Her hand swept across her robes, reaching for her dagger. Kaelie, beautiful face twisted into a scowl, wandered forward. She was dressed modestly today, donning a simple white dress that lapped at her ankles. Without her face painted on, without her breasts nearly popping out from her dress, she looked much younger. "When they told me the Koningin was pregnant."

Clary looked at the girl warily, crossing her arms over her dress. "What do you want, Kaelie?" She said in a cool tone, glaring at the blonde.

She shook her head, wandering forward. "You've ruined everything, Clarissa Morgenstern," she said in a morose, slightly bitter voice as her beautiful face contorted into a scowl.

"If you mean stopping your plans of marrying my husband, then-" Clary started hotly, but was sharply cut across by Kaelie's scoff.

"They told me you were smart, Clarissa. You can have the King of Beasts," Kaelie replied with cold civility. "I have a much more ambitious goal in mind." Once she saw Clary was silent, she continued, icy blue eyes ablaze. "Do you know who I am, Princess? Where I come from?"

"Of course not," Clary replied, feeling more and more confused. "I have no idea who you are."

Something like fierce anger crossed the beauty in Kaelie's face and she opened her mouth, but abruptly closed it, as if rethinking something. "Of course you wouldn't," she said softly, looking lost in thought. "You wouldn't have known me. Your father might have, though."

That caught Clary's attention; her eyes snapped up to meet the blonde-haired woman's and she stared in wonder. "My father?" She said in a strangled voice, her eyes never straying from the other girl. "How did you know my father?"

Kaelie looked solemn as she shook her head, blonde curls falling around her face. "He was my king, of course."

Those words struck a cord within Clary. She stared at Kaelie in bewilderment as she struggled to comprehend those words. Could it be? Could this girl really be from Alicante? "You come from Alicante?" She asked in a voice of complete shock; it colored her voice as she stared at Kaelie in a completely new light.

"Yes." Cool blue eyes clashed with green. "Or at least, I was."

"How-?" She stuttered, shaking her head. "Why-? Why are you here?"

Kaelie scoffed in disgust, shaking her head furiously. "Do you think I want to be here? Spend every night being taken by a different man? Forced to drink fern tea every day so I don't get pregnant with an Idrisian warrior's child? Ridiculed and mocked by the natives for being something they made me into?" She grew more and more angry, her icy blue eyes fierce and angry; her beautiful face was terrifying and Clary took a step backward, slightly fearful.

Kaelie seemed to realize this, and stopped, slightly breathless. "I was taken, in the day, when I was out by the stream with my little brothers." She looked lost in thought, but something like nostalgia was dreamt across her face. "I can't even remember their faces anymore. Just bits of blonde and blue. They looked like me, though. That's all I know now." Her face grew angry and cold like the ground in winter, and her voice sharpened once again. "They're dead now. Killed by the Idrisians. they took me and forced me to become a whore for their men."

Clary frowned, feeling guilt rise in her throat. "Kaelie, I had no idea, I'm-"

But once again, she was interrupted. "My family was killed, my brothers left dead for wolves and I was taken to a foreign with men who forced themselves onto me. I had nothing. But," she started to get angry once more, "I could take everything from the men who did this to me."

This sent off a warning in Clary's head as she put her hands out. "Kaelie," she said in a soft voice, "whatever you're planning, stop."

Her head whipped around, eyes hard. "Stop? Clarissa, this is your fault! Your father's fault! Your entire bloodline and their weakness! You could have stopped them and saved my brothers, my parents. You...you could have saved me." Her voice, once angry and full of desperate, hateful fight, trailed off into broken silence.

Clary didn't know what to say. Deep, deep shame burned in the pit of her stomach. At last, she took a deep breath, shaking her head with disappointment at herself. "Kaelie, I'm so sorry this happened to you," she said in a meek voice, cursing her voice for it's perceived weakness. How could she not remember her? However, people from the border of Alicante went missing all the time so it was nothing that surprised Clary. Except, it was Kaelie who was one of them.

Kaelie seemingly ignored her, though, as she stared out into the distance. "I always thought your father would come and rescue me from them. Or maybe it would be your handsome brother, the tall good-looking one with green eyes. I remember my family going out to the castle, seeing him there with your father and thinking how wonderful he was, waving at the people on his horse. I thought, when the Idrisians took me and left me crying on the bed, broken and wishing for home, that he would come and whisk me away, marry me even." She smiled faintly, but that was taken away by the sudden grimace on her face.

"But no. Days passed, then weeks and then a year. No one was coming for me, I knew. So, I knew I would have to save myself," Kaelie said wistfully, shaking her blonde locks. "And there was one man I could reach, one man who could cripple the Idrisian empire and end their tyranny."

"Who?" Clary asked in a hard voice, but she already knew the answer.

Kaelie smiled softly. "You're smart, Princess. You know who I mean."

"The Koning."

"Yes," Kaelie breathed, "The Lord of Barbarians. If I could get rid of him, this god-forsaken place would burn and die out. It would topple and the men could If I could become his bride, then I would kill it from the inside and destroy this hateful kingdom. But then you," her head turned towards Clary in a painstakingly slow turn, "you came along and ruined it all."

"Because I was what you wanted."

"Exactly. But then, I thought, perhaps this princess could help me. Even though her father and brother had failed me, maybe, just maybe, this princess could help me claim my revenge and save faith to my family's memory. But you were weak, just like your house. You cowered and sniveled like a craven fool, and you were no help to me."

Clary couldn't reply; her mouth was glued shut and all she could do was listen in horror as a woman she once hated plotted to murder her husband.

"However, you were a minor glitch as months after you married the filthy barbarian, you were still not with child. This gave me hope; with no child produced, the match would be considered non-fitting and the Koning would need a need bride. But now," she gestured towards Clary's stomach, which had swelled rapidly, "it is not to be."

There was an awkward silence.

Clary did not feel anger at the girl; she was simply an angry, vengeful woman who had a lot of bad things happen to her.

Suddenly-

"Why are you telling me this? Now, after all this time?" Clary asked her warily, feeling as if she was trapped in a room with a very hungry, very angry bear.

"Because it's too late now," Kaelie said, looking defeated. "It's too late. The Koning has an heir and his child will sit on the throne and so will his children. The Idrisian line is destined to last forever now. But, there is still hope, Princess Clarissa." Her eager blue eyes looked up to meet Clary's. "If you joined me, and we took him down together. You can do me the justice your father never could," she said in a soft voice, pleading and desperate. "Please." Something in Kaelie broke and she looked so young and so full of fresh hurt.

Clary looked at her hopelessly, grasping for words as she felt her heart break, looking at this poor, poor girl who was so full of rage. "I-I can't," she said, a note of finality in her voice. "I'm sorry, Kaelie, I am, but I love him. He's my husband, and I carry his child inside me." Her hands curled protective, adoringly, around her swollen stomach; Kaelie caught this movement and her eyes narrowed.

Any trace of the sad, pleading girl was gone; in her place, a hardened, cold woman with hate in her heart. "I see." That was all she said.

"Are there others? Other people who feel the way you do?"

Kaelie shook her head, looking disheartened. "There are a few, but they are far too scared to do anything about it."

"Aline?" Clary questioned, remembering the petite dark-haired girl who hung on Kaelie's arm like a baby.

Kaelie snorted, looking disgusted. "Aline? She is a silly fool with a head too big to sit on her shoulders. She fancies herself as in love with the Koning. She sees herself as an Idrisian, likes being taken by them," she said with such surprising venom that Clary recoiled. The blonde looked squarely at Clary, lifting her chin upwards. "And you? You will not join me?"

Clary nodded firmly, though all she felt was pity and sorrow for the girl who had lost nearly everything. Kaelie said nothing but turned away, looking disappointed. Not upset, or angry, but just...disappointed.

"Kaelie, wait," Clary told her; Kaelie did not answer, or even turn around. The Koningin cleared her throat, feeling slightly awkward. "If I can get you out of this place, I swear to the gods, I will." There was something in the way that she stood; her head jerking to the side, her hair flowing in the wind.

And then she was off, a beauty aged too bitterly for the world to drink.

* * *

 **So? What did you guys think? I didn't want to make Kaelie just another character to get inbetween Jace and Clary, I wanted to give her real meaning and purpose. I wanted to make her interesting and have a backstory as well.**

 **Please review all your thoughts and opinions, I love hearing all of them!**

 **I will try and update as soon as possible so please look out for them. I will be very busy in the upcoming weeks, but I promise to try my very best.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	33. Chapter 33 (The Call For War)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 33. The Call For War**

 **Here is another chapter because I adore you guys! A lot happens in this one, so make sure to pay attention! I really look forward to your reviews; they always make my day. I was super busy the past few weeks so I was unable to make the time to try and write chapters, but I now have plenty of time! More posting yay!**

 **...**

 **Anyways, I have other news, which is that I have updated and changed Chapter 4!**

 **GO READ CHAPTER 4!**

 **...**

 **CHAPTER 4!**

 **...**

 **I've already started making changes to chapter 5, so make sure to look out for that as well.**

 **As always, let me know what you think of this chapter because I love to hear your advice and opinions! You all have really wonderful ideas and I love to hear them.**

 **And btw, I'm really sorry for all the Shadowhunter fans out there who must be devastated that the television show was cancelled! I never really got into it, only watched a few episodes, but I'm so sorry you guys! Hopefully this chapter makes you feel better and it might get renewed :)**

 **Enjoy!**

 **GO READ CHAPTER 4!**

* * *

 **Chapter 33.**

 **-Clary-**

It was a lovely day; though autumn neared, it showed no change in the consistently charming weather that graced Idris. With this thought in mind, Clary slipped on a summer dress, the material flowing over her swollen stomach, lapping at her delicate ankles. Whistling for Lykaios, she stepped out from the castle, smoothing her dress, fingers adoringly caressing the lump of her stomach. Though he was a while away from being born, she was already in love with her sweet little boy and early awaited the day she would get to hold him, see him in her arms. Walking without paying attention, she rounded the corner when she nearly ran into-

Alec.

Blue-eyed, perpetually pale skin, angry scowl and stone-cold gaze.

Also, in love with her husband.

"Koningin," he murmured respectfully; the initially hostile and repulsed tone in his voice had all but disappeared and now there was only cold aloofness, and something bitter that Clary suspected was not directed to her.

"Alec." There was nothing unfriendly in her voice, but she still eyed him with wariness. Their relationship in the past was distrustful, even hindering on mutual dislike and just a thin line of tolerance.

Clary wasn't exactly sure what they were now.

"How are you today, Alec?" Clary asked in a false attempt to be civil.

He answered with a slight jerk of his head, his thick black hair braided back, embedded with small charms and beads to protect the soul from evil spirits as well as help evoke strength and feelings of duty and love. "Good," he said in his usual fashion of short, simplistic and straight to the point. "And I am here to protect you."

Clary raised her eyebrows at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Protect me? I don't need you to protect me, Alec, though the offer is nice," she snorted, tilting her head to the side.

Alec didn't look offended, but shook his head anyway. "The Koning has ordered it, Koningin. He made me swear an oath to the Sun God, and said he would make do on the promise of no children if you were injured," he said uncomfortably, shifting his hands.

"Oh? He did, did he?" Clary said in an angry tone. Ever since the near death of his wife and child, the Koning had been overprotective, making sure Clary went nowhere alone. He was also furious at himself for allowing her to get injuired, and spent a lot of the night up, protecting over Clary. No amount of coaxing, threatening or sex could get him to sleep but Clary was just as stubborn.

She understood his concern; she had nearly been killed, along with her precious son, but who would be mad enough to walk into a hostile, Idrisian land and try and kill the queen?

"Yes," Alec said, still looking slightly uncomfortable with the prospect of it all. "But I have orders from the Koning, so I'm afraid I cannot let you out of my sight."

Clary contemplated this, frowning. "Very well," she smiled sweetly, now annoyed that her stroll would include a grumpy, silent Alec but liked the weather too much that she decided she would make do. "But we have someone who is coming along with us."

Alec looked confused. "Who?"

Clary whistled, a high pitch that echoed throughout the plains. There was silence for a moment before a giant, horse-like figure bounded out from the trees, heading straight for her. Alec looked slightly alarmed, hands going for his daggers, but Clary stopped him. The figure got closer and closer, streaking through the grass like a horse with wings sliding along the ground. A massive, black wolf with shining teeth like knives stopped just before Clary, nuzzling her arm and licking her face gently. She touched his snout with affection, stroking his ears; he purred in response, eager for her affections.

Alec looked half-scared, half-bemused as this giant creature wagged it's tail and licked Clary's face with adoration. "This is Lykaios," Clary crooned, scratching underneath his chin as he panted with joy, showing bloodied jaws from his latest kill.

Lykaios's head snapped to Alec's, growling suspiciously as he sniffed at him, slowing advancing on the unknown man. Alec stepped back, looking wary. "No, Lykaios," Clary said with the sweetness of a snake. "This man is protecting me. He's coming with us for our walk today." She stroked his mane, cooing at him. "Is that alright, Lykaios?"

Alec still looked a little frightened, but steeled himself, resolute to protect his Koningin. "Where are we going?"

Clary was amused at his persistence, his stubbornness maybe just matching her own. "The apple groves, just behind that field. I walk there while the Koning is busy, and then I head down to the river sometimes," she told him.

Alec sighed out as Lykaios growled a little at him, his thick body guarding her own. "Alright, I'll follow you."

* * *

They had been walking together in a sort of peaceful, solitary silence that Clary rather preferred than having a gossiping handmaiden or even Isabelle, who would tell her about every little detail in her life from her sore foot to a strange pimple on her back. Lykaios padded alongside next to them, still wary of the new stranger that had dared intrude with the time between Clary and himself, but soon bounded away to sniff out another scent he had found. The air smelt like the late season of wildflowers just coming in for the last of summertime and there was a pleasant breeze that kept her distracted from the blazing sun.

The apple groves looked beautiful this time of month, thick and colored with red as Clary munched on one, savoring the sweetness of it.

Alec walked stiffly, as most soldiers did, with his hands clasped behind his back. His expression gave nothing away; he played his part of bodyguard extremely well, Clary noticed as she strolled along, enjoying the last of the sun.

And then-

"Ouch!" Clary exclaimed at the sudden pain in her stomach, stopping short and leaning against a tree, breathing heavily as she did.

Alec looked alarmed, quickly shifting into a protective mode, moving closer to her. "Koningin?" He asked in a hushed voice. "What's the matter?"

Clary breathed in a little, hand resting on her stomach. After a few more moments, she nodded her head, feeling slightly dizzy. "I'm fine, thank you Alec. This baby just kicks a lot harder than I'm used to," she murmured, breathing in heavily through her voice.

Alec's worried expression cleared, looking thoroughly relieved but a little uncomfortable with the mention of pregnancy. "Y-yes," he coughed, offering his arm so Clary could straighten herself; she glaldy accepted, feeling much better than before. "Of course. Are-are you feeling alright now?"

Clary nodded in reply, slightly bemused by his edgy expression, like an animal caged and frightened. "Yes," she smiled softly, "really, I'm fine."

Alec retreated back into his little shadow, frowning but looked a little more relieved.

He was about to speak again, but then-

"Koningin! Koningin!" A cry of a young woman tore her attention away from Alec; she turned her head and saw a pale, terrified handmaiden barrel towards her, light blonde hair flowing behind her as she skidded before them, out of breath with wild, unseeing eyes.

"Ja? Wat is dit, sussie?" Clary said in a gentle tone, attempting to calm her down as she placed a soft hand on her shoulder. "Rust nou asem."

 _(Yes? What is it, sister? Calm now breathe.)_

The girl gasped for air, hands resting on her knees. Alec neared the two of them, skepticism clouding his handsome features as he eagerly awaited the handmaiden's news. "Dit is jou broer, Koningin," the girl gasped out, looking abosultely terrified as tears streamed down her face. "Die Koningin het vanoggend die nuus ontvang dat hy die Idrisiese weermag vereis om die vasteland van die Rooi See in te val."

 _(It is your brother, Koningin. The Koningin received the news this morning that he demands the Idrisian army to invade the mainland of the Red Sea.)_

The young girl then promptly burst into tears, sobbing as Clary clutched her to her body, shushing her as she soothed her hair.

But black dread clouded her heart.

Alec's eye caught her own and they stared at each other in horror and shock.

It had happened.

Clary had been expecting this, dreading it for ages now but it was happening. It was real. Her crazy brother was going to invade Aelunor and massacre all who lived in there unless they swore fealty to him, with the intent of using the massive Idrisian army to do so.

Oh, Jonathon.

Why couldn't you have just left well enough alone.

* * *

The people of Idris were already in a mad frenzy of panic when Clary, Alec and the handmaiden returned. Mothers and fathers searched for their children as warriors marched into the castle; iron masons and blacksmiths were forging weapons, clanging red-hot steel into swords and spears. Clary quickly sent the sobbing girl into the care of others, who quickly soothed her as Clary sought for her husband. She turned to Alec, who looked determined, ice-blue eyes poised like a soldier's. "We need to find him," she told him, voice barely there amongst the shouts of panic and screams.

Alec nodded in agreement, and they hurried off together as Alec made way for her, pushing people out off her direction. Once they did see the Koningin, they quickly swarmed her for answers, asking her what was going on, what were they going to do, how it could happen. Hands grasped at her as Alec determinedly got her through to the castle gates where the guards quickly let her in.

She quickly ran up to one of the generals, who bowed in respect. "Where is this Koning?" She asked him in a hurried tone.

"The war room, Koningin. He awaits you and broer Alec," he answered, but Clary and Alec were already gone, flying towards the room.

Once they had arrived, they found it full of soldiers, generals, army men and even old Malachi, who sat serenely in the corner, leaning on his old staff, but worried lines crossed his wizended face.

And her Jace stood out from all of them, the tallest and most calm of them all as he stared down at a map, golden eyes furrowed as he stared down at Aelunor.

Then, as if sensing her presence, he looked up and his usually hard expression softened and the tension from his shoulders relaxed. She let out a sigh of relief as she walked toward him, hand reaching for his own outstretched one as their fingers clasped and his own heat warmed her up and everything else fell away.

It was only her and him, like it should be.

But then the flood of worried voices and panicked questions broke through this and Jace sighed, looking irritated. He barked out an order for silence in his formidable voice and everyone fell silent. They took a seat quietly, like scolded children.

Jace cleared his voice, breathing out. "Dit is waar dat Jonathon Morgenstern van Alicante die Idrisiese weermag aangevra het," he annouced; immedaiely, mumurs and whispers broke out. "Dit," Jace raised his voice. "Is egter geen rede om paniekerig te raak nie."

 _(It is true that Jonathon Morgenstern of Alicante has requested the use of our army.) (However, that is no reason to panic.)_

"Hoekom wil hy ons soldate gebruik?" A elder asked in a hoarse voice, white-brown hair braided over his eyes.

 _(Why does he wish to use our soldiers?)_

Jace looked at Clary for the answer, hand squeezing her own. She took a deep breath as all eyes fell onto her. "My broer glo dat Aelunor, die stad oor die Rooi See, aan ons familie behoort. Hy bedoel om die stad aan te val, diegene in beheer te vermoor en oor te neem. Met die gebruik van die Idrisiese weermag," she told them as angry faces met her gaze.

 _(My brother believes that Aelunor, the city across the Red Sea, belongs to our family. He means to raid the city, kill those in charge and take over. With the use of the Idrisian army.)_

More shocked whispers followed.

"En omdat die huwelik tussen die Koning en my self gemaak is uit die ooreenkoms dat hy die alliansie militêr kan gebruik, is dit bindend."

 _(And because the marriage between the Koning and myself was made from the agreement that he would be able to use the alliance militarily, it's binding.)_

Jace watched on, looking quite serious as she spoke. It hurt to see him looking so conflicted. On one hand, they had sworn in the use of the army, but on the other...

"It would mean the slaughter of thousands, maybe millions, of innocent people," she whispered to him as the rest of them chatted between themselves. He slid her body closer to his own, lips at her ear.

"I know, cstrisi. I know," he murmured, sounding sad.

An argument began to gather in the crowd. A middle-aged general stood up. "Hoekom moet ons die oproep van 'n dwaas buitelandse seun beantwoord?" He asked in an outraged voice; others roared in agreement.

 _(Why should we answer the call of some silly foreign boy?)_

"En verloor die lewens van ons eie mense in die proses? Ons sal Idris feitlik onbewaak verlaat as ons dit gedoen het!" Another cried in agreement, banging his stick on the ground.

 _(And lose the lives of our own people in the process? We would be leaving Idris practically unguarded if we did so)._

It was true, Clary knew. Many lives, both of Aelunor, Idris and Alicante, would be lost if they did indeed engage in the war. And if most of the army did in fact leave, it would leave the rest of Idris, the farmers and workers and families, unprotected from the rest of the world who would greedily swarm in and take what was there for the picking.

"Ons is 'n eerstereg! Ons moet hierdie pact handhaaf wat ons met die buitelanders doen, om deur te gaan met die heilige pact! Ons gode sou op ons voete spuug as hulle sou sien wat ons gedoen het!" One elderly man said in protest, banging his own stick to the ground.

 _(We are a people of honor! We must uphold this pact we make with the foreigners, to follow through with the sacred pact! Our gods would spit on our feet if they were to see what we have done!)_

The argument grew rowdier and rowdier and then it was like even Jace could not calm this storm down. It was only when old Malachi rose slowly to his feet and raised his rattling staff that silence fell and the men returned to their seats, still grumbling about the situation of it all. Malachi wobbled towards the middle of the room, just where the map lay, the ancient edges curling and crumbling before him.

He took a deep breath in, wheezing as he did so. "Wat Jonathon Morgenstern wil doen is teen ons gode en wat hulle glo. Ons klop en steel omdat ons dit doen op ons gode, maar om miljoene dood te maak vir die strewe na 'n troon? Aan 'n vreemdeling wat niks van ons weet nie," he croaked out, leaning heavily against his staff.

 _(What Jonathon Morgenstern wishes to do is against our gods and what they believe. We raid and steal because we do so on our gods, but to kill millions for the pursuit of a throne? To a foreign who knows nothing about us.)_

Clary was just now realizing the power and potential that Malachi held over the Idrisian people. With just a few words from his mouth, the people in the room who had doubted the idea of resisiting were beginning to nod their heads.

Malachi continued, breathing heavily with his staff rattling alongside him as he did. "Oorlog, vir die doel van oorlog, is betekenisloos. Ons gode en die songod aan die roer sou Jónathon Morgenstern in die grond vloek vir sy optrede. Ons sal nie oorlog voer nie, teen 'n volk wat niks aan ons gedoen het nie."

 _(War, for the purpose of war, is meaningless. Our gods, and the sun god at the helm, would curse Jonathon Morgenstern into the ground for his actions. We will not go to war, against a people who have done nothing to us at all.)_

The whole room was in agreement now; even the most doubtful, questioning ones stamped their feet in approval as they clapped their hands in unison.

Malachi bowed his head towards Jace, his wizened white hair falling over his face. "Maar ek verlaat jou keuse, wyse Koning. 'N Seun wat ek jou een keer gesien het, maar 'n man van die gode wat jy nou is," he said softly, offering his gnarled hand for Jace to shake.

 _(But, I leave the choice to you, wise Koning. A boy I saw you as once, but a man of the gods you are now.)_

Jace shook his hand firmly, his strong youthful fingers clasping over Malachi's, shaking it with strength. ""Natuurlik, my mentor. U mening word altyd in hierdie kamer as sodanig gewaardeer," he said in return.

 _(Of course, my mentor. Your opinion is always valued as such in this room.)_

Malachi bowed once more, hobbling back to his seat as he sat, looking calm once more.

"Dit is egter nie net vir my nie. Hierdie besluit raak ons almal. Ons sal 'n stem hê, van elke stamhoof. Staan jou hand vir oorlog." Jace asked, burly arms crossed over the other.

 _(However, it is not just up to me. This decision affects us all. We will have a vote, from each of the tribe leaders. Raise your hand for war.)_

Only a few pushed for war, raising their hands in disbelief as their brothers did not. Clary noted that Alec was not amongst them, and instead slumped sulkily against the war, looking rather displeased with the entire thing.

"En vir teen?"

 _(And against?)_

Almost all hands in the room shot up; it was near unanimous, and Clary let out a breath, feeling relieved.

"Goeie. Dan is dit gevestig. Ons sal nie in die oorlog gaan nie," said Jace, sounding just as relieved as Clary did, arms still crossed over his chest.

 _(Good. Then it is settled. We shall not go to war.)_

"Daar is egter nog die kwessie van hierdie vreemde seun en sy weermag. Wat doen ons wanneer hy ons spiese en swaarde eis? Hy sal ons sekerlik aanskakel as ons sy oproep nie beantwoord nie," a younger man called out, red war paint streaked across his cheeks.

 _(However, there is still the matter of this foreign boy and his army. What do we do when he demands our spears and swords? He will surely turn on us if we do not answer his call.)_

"Jonathon Morgenstern kan 'n koning wees, maar hy is nog steeds net 'n man. Ons het 'n groter weermag, sowel as die element van verrassing," Jace answered, smiling devilishly, as realization struck Clary and she realized just how clever he really was.

(Jonathon Morgenstern may be a king, but he is still just a man. We have a larger army, as well as the element of surprise.)

The man frowned, shaking his head. "Die element van verrassing?"

(The element of surprise?)

Jace's eyes met Clary and she smiled at him. He answered without looking at the man. "Ons kan maklik voorgee dat ons sy oproep inderdaad beantwoord. Dat wanneer ons optree, is dit om hom nie te help nie, maar om sy weermag te verpletter en hom te dwing om te onderdruk totdat hy ingestem het om hierdie dom idee van verowering te stop."

 _(We can easily pretend that we are indeed answering his call. That when we march, it is to not to help him, but to crush his army and force him to subdue until he agrees to stop this silly idea of conquest.)_

It was simple, but really brilliant. They had the advantage here, with Jonathon relying on their force and power for his conquest. But if they captured his army, and made him surrender, then it could prevent a war all together.

The rest of the room seemed struck by the young Koning's brilliance, and was quick to praise his battle strategy, which they were eager to compare to the former Koning's.

But Jace heard nothing of their praise as Clary slipped her small hands into his own.

He squeezed, and she did so as well.

And it was just the two of them again.

* * *

Clary, barely clothed now in their bedchamber, kissed Jace fiercely as he wound his arms around her, swallowing her body with his own. She gripped him so tightly that she hoped she could never let go of him again. Swooping her up into her arms, he carried her over to their bed, their legs intertwined, their lips touching everything they could.

It was hot and heavy and beautiful.

But there was a bitter sweetness between every caress, every kiss, every touch of their hands and lips and chests and legs and arms.

Like somehow, they knew it would be a while before they could be alone together like this again.

His warm lips found her nipple, latching on as his fingers found her center, curling up inside her as she cried out in pleasure, arching her back as he teased her with his tongue. She quickly demanded that he rid his own clothes. He smirked, chuckling at his wife as he shed his clothes, calling her cstrisi. Clary admired him in the soft bask of the fire, every hardened muscle and line thrown forward as she leaped up and tackled him to the bed, kissing his mouth fiercely as she grabbed at his cock and tugged mischievously at it he groaned under her.

She settled over his lap, legs thrown over either side of his body as she lowered herself down onto him, whimpering in need as she did so. She rode him hard and fast, crying out as Jace thrusted upward to meet her thrusts, needing him so desperately as she rode him almost desperately.

And then he was on top, flipping them over so his hot, hot body encompassed her own and she clutched him close to her.

Their eyes met and Clary felt sadness swell up inside her.

His thrusts slowed and it was soft and tender and sad. His large hand came up to cup her face as they stared at each other, both slightly breathless.

And as her orgasm came, she cried out and a tear slid down her cheek.

He grunted as he spilled his seed into her, biting down playfully into his shoulder, trying to make her giggle. But it only made more tears flow down her face, dripping onto the pillow underneath her head as she made a sad, half-sobbing sound.

"Shh..." he murmured, kissing her tears away as his thumb traced her lower lip. "It will be fine, cstrisi, I swear."

"I know you have to go with them," she whispered shakily, still feeling cold despite his massive body over her own. "I know you're leaving."

He grew still then, face serious. "And you don't want me to?" He asked her softly, kissing the scar on her shoulder.

She traced his jawline, his face blurred in her tears. "I know that you have to. Even if the gods would want you to stay me with," she told him. "They can't do it without their Koning. But you have to come back to me. And our son."

Jace nodded, kissing her forehead. "Not even death could keep us apart, cstrisi. Not even the Sun god, and his children, nor their's. No one will stop me from coming back to you," he growled, tightening his hold on her, his voice so solid and firm that she had no other choice than to believe him.

She smiled at him, sad tears in her eyes. "Nyu vou sueni."

He kissed her once more. "Cstrisi." Clary was pretty sire there were also tears in his eyes too, with the husky tone of his voice sad and miserable.

And then they fell asleep as such, their bodies twined together in a death grip, Clary listening to her husband's heartbeat as she eventually drifted off, with not even her dreams to soothe her.

* * *

 **What did you guys think? Did you love Alec/Clary friendhsip? They will gte really close later on, I rpomise!**

 **Please review, and look forward to the next chapter!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	34. Chapter 34 (These Broken Souls)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 34. These Broken Souls**

 **Hello everyone! Here is another chapter, I hope you guys enjoy! I know I left the last chapter on a bit of a cliffhanger, so here you are. This might be a little but of a filler chapter, but it is still crucial to the plot.**

 **Remember, look at CHAPTER 4!**

 **CHAPTER 4!**

 **Chapter 4!**

 **I updated it, and will continue to do so for the rest of the chapters.**

 **As usual, I love all of your reviews and I hope you continue to share your opinions and thoughts on my story. And 860 reviews! Seriously? Thank you so, so much! I adore you all so much! I can't believe there's only a few chapters left until it's over! However, the ride has been amazing and I'm looking forward to all your reactions.**

 **Please read and review!**

* * *

 **Chapter 34.**

 **-Clary-**

The call of war, echoed throughout the entirety of the Idrisian kingdom, rang loud and clear; for the span of three days, it demanded the attention of warriors and soldiers everywhere. It sought their arms and their strength, their steel and their valor. It scared the birds from their posts in the trees, chased the wolves from their home in the deep dark of the forest and even made the mighty bears lumber back into their caves. Young men everywhere kissed their tearful parents parents goodbye, gathered their freshly-made weapons from their blacksmiths and scurried off to join their brothers-in-arms as they marched to the central city in Idris.

Frenzy stirred, thick and malicious, in the air as people scurried around the city; fathers left tearful children behind as they called out for their papa; the spear women gathered their ranks as they prepared themselves for battle; even the old men, eager to help, hobbled around as they helped gather swords, arrows, spears, anything that could be used kill a man.

Or seriously maim him.

Clary watched this all from the balcony of the _spaura_ (spiritual) _azuiw_ , which was a room of healing and calm. Her hair, let loose and wild, whipped around her face, red tendrils brushed away from her shoulders. Pale hands gripped the banister before her as she breathed heavily through her nose, her head tilted forward. Alec, dark and silent as usual, stood off to the side as he remained true to his promise to the Koning; to protect Clary at any cost.

Clary appreciated his company, though. While everyone simpered and told her how strong she was, how wonderful her husband was, Alec did nothing to console her; instead, he just sighed and grumbled as usual, which Clary found she liked much more. He treated her like he always did, and she discovered she preferred his silent, sometimes awkward personality to nearly everyone else's.

And he followed her almost everywhere, with wary eyes and a glare at anyone who came too close.

Clary slowly began to suspect that he might like her. Though he would not admit it, she knew he missed his best friend and his king.

The prospect of war had always hindered on the low end of Clary's mind; now, it was all but a reality for every man, woman and child who occupied Idris and Alicante and Aelunor.

And they were all doomed.

Because of a madman, namley her brother, who was determined to claim back what wa s his.

And kill millions while he did.

Her nails splintered the wooden slate and she scowled, grinding her teeth. There were a lot of moments in her life where she wanted to strangle Jonathon, but none where as strong as the urge was now. Not even when he would string her up and torture her for hours.

Not now, when she had something to live for.

Jonathon had always been a cruel child, but resentment and madness made him into an even crueler man as he sought for what was his. Clary found herself recounting nearly forgotten memories of things he had done as a child.

Locked Clary inside of a dark tower room and refused to let her out for a day while she screamed and cried and begged.

Killed the butcher boy's dog after he had laughed at Jonathon when he tripped over a stray chip in the ground.

Tortured an old woman when she spat at him, calling him the devil's child.

Jace was gone. Him and the first battalion had left for Alicante to scout ahead, plot out routes and attack strategies. Clary missed him so; his absence was a sharp ache that refused to go away. She felt it's constant presence and she was lonely and miserable and she felt like unless her husband would come home safe, she could possibly never be happy again.

Misery gnawed at her chest and she shuddered, feeling tears prick at her eyes.

But she forced them down.

She was a Morgenstern, the last living daughter of Fairchild, and she did not cry.

A small kick to her stomach made her perk up; a smile graced her lips, making her feel a little less miserable. Her hand, shaking but determined, reached out to rest against the swell of her belly, which while still small, still grew rapidly each day. There was nothing else in the world right now that could make her feel better than the feel of her son's growing strength against her stomach, and the beat of his fierce, fierce Idrisian heart.

Her smile remained, if only for a few seconds, but soon faded away as the cold dark clouded her heart.

The love of her life was gone.

The entire kingdom of Idris was threatened; thousands could lose their lives.

And there was not much she could do about it.

"Koningin?" There was a soft voice from behind her; tentative and warm, Clary turned to greet it as she eyed a small, round-eyed girl who trembled underneath the stern gaze of Alec, who looked at her with his usual look of distaste. Clary sent him a reprimanding look and he sighed, looking away.

Clary attempted a smile. "Yes, what is it?" She asked in a listless voice.

"There is food and drink in the other room. Made especially by the chef. And sister Isabelle ordered me to tell you to eat it." She mumbled the last bit, and Clary suspected that she was sightly scared of the terrifying warrior goddess who could wield a sword and also wear a dress while killing a man.

Clary sighed in exasperation. "Thank you. Please assure sister Isabelle I will eat my meal." The young girl bowed, and quickly left in a hurry.

* * *

Clary sat alone in a dark room; ever since Jace had left, she had all but refused to sleep or even go into their bedchambers. There was just too much that had happened there and too many voices that made her feel sick and sad and everything else that dared linger in between. So, she slept elsewhere, curled up in her bed as she stared at the wall, tears threatening to spill as she shuddered into a clutched pillow, dry heaving as everything around her fell into despair.

Now, she mourned for the husband that she had lost and the brother she never had. She missed Bryta and her father and even the nasty old cook back in Alicante who used to cuss at her for stealing treats from the kitchen.

But most of all, she missed Jace.

His harsh and threatening behavior with others but the unmistakable softness and kindness he treated her and a few others with. His passion and fire for the people he cared for; the love for his dead parents and the unconditional love he already had for his unborn son. His fondness for his kingdom and the unshakable protection of his beloved kingdom.

She wanted him back; it had been a week already, but it felt far too long already.

Clary stared down at her fingers, unable to make them out in the dark room; the candle in the corner of the room was burning dangerously low, only a smudge of light emitting from the short stub of wax.

The last time she remembered feeling this miserable was when her father had died, and Jonathon had taken charge. But somehow, this felt worse because she didn't know if the love of her life was dead or alive. She sighed out once more, burying her face into her hands as she sniffled, her breath hitching.

And then-

"Clary!" A furious voice bellowed out, knocking Clary out from her spell of misery. "For Araso's sake, open this door!" The demon on the other side of the room banged against the door; however, Isabelle took no notice of her answer and stormed in anyways. She took one pitying glance at her friend before scowling at her, crossing her arms over her chest. "Where have you been?" The dark-haired mother demanded, frowning, looking like her usual, bossy self.

But there was something wrong.

Something off in her voice, the nervous twitch in her eye, the frantic tapping of her foot.

Clary rose from her spot, clutching at her pillow as she cried to control her breathing. "Izzy?" Her voice was hoarse and she cleared her throat. "What is it? What's wrong?"

 _Jace, Jace, Jace._

 _No, no, no_.

Isabelle, the fierce and beautiful warrior of Idris, looked worried as she toyed with her fingers, hesitating before she answered. "It's about Jace and the battalion." _No, no, no._ "They've been captured by the Alicante army." _Clary's mouth tasted like blood as she bit the inside of her cheek._ "There were almost no survivors." _A dull, buzzing sound filled Clary's ears and her entire body was numb._ "Only one man came back." _A hand, maybe Isabelle's, maybe Alec's, maybe even her mother's or her father's, touched her shoulder gently._

Clary closed her eyes and felt bliss as she lost the feeling in her fingers and toes.

Oh, Jace. My sweet, beautiful man.

There was a sudden, sharp blow to her cheek that made Clary's eyes open in shock. She fell back onto the bed in an almost comical action, cluthcijng the pillow to her chest. Towering above her was a furious Isabelle, with angry red spots in her pale cheeks, her hands on her hips. "Don't you dare!" Isabelle screeched like an angry banshee; Clary stared up at her in shock. "Don't you dare fall apart right now, Clary, when everyone needs you! When Jace may be dead and your brother may be coming to kill us!" Clary had never seen Isabelle so furious before; her dark eyes blazed with hellfire and her hair flew around her like the strike of a whip against the side of a horse.

Isabelle knelt beside her, strong hands clutching her shoulders, eyes suddenly pleading. "Please, Clary. Your people need you right now, and you cant fall apaprt now." Her voice was tiny but determined. "We can do this, alright? I'll be here always, whatever you need."

Clary stared at her friend. It was like something woke up inside of her, something fierce and alive and writhing and desperate. Grasping Isabelle's hands, she nodded, feeling truly alive since her husband had left. "Together," she said in a strangely calm voice.

Isabelle grinned, relieved. "Together." She squeezed Clary's hands, kissing her cheek.

The two women smiled at each other, lost in the nearly overwhelming love and friendship. Isabelle, with all her antics and irrationality, would always be there with Clary; while she wasn't Jace, she was still there and would support her no matter what.

"You know what you need to do now," Isabelle told her, grinning at her friend. They dressed into war gear, fitting hard leather and tight boots with knife slots onto their body.

Clary, with Isabelle at her heels, stormed into the conference room; caught by surprise, the arguing men jumped quickly to their feet, flattering her with bows and uttered praises. With a quick glance around the room, Clary observed the strewn, ink-streaked maps that cluttered the tables as well as wooden figurines placed across the flat of a marble slate. Clary ignored the jabbering war generals and heads, and raised her hand to indicate silence; they followed heed, heads bowing in respect. Clary trod over to the game board, familiarity striking her. It was a game that Jace would often play with her; the Idrisian version of chess, she supposed.

Souzi, he had called it. It had various chess pieces, each with a different purpose to the game. Originally used a child's game, kings and lords now sought its use for military strategy and tactics.

There was the king, queen, second-in-command, general, battalions, maegi, the little boy, the dog, soldier and the witch.

Each carved from fine maple wood, with amazingly intricate details.

Clary reached the table, looking down at the board. The figurine for army had been knocked out, strewn off to the side; it was meant to represent the first battalion, Clary realized as she clasped it in her hand, admiring the fine workmanship that must have taken a steady hand and a fine eye. Alicante and Idris territories had been painted on, each stroke indicating the border or strongholds respective to each kingdom's claim. She studied the map, tracing the border with the curve of her fingernail.

And then it caught her eye.

The king, the head piece, the figurehead of the ship.

It was thrown off to the side; Clary, with trembling fingers, picked it up, examining it with narrowed eyes.

Jace.

She straightened it so it was able to stand, and placed it firmly onto the marble board, where Alicante was. And where Jace probably was too.

She turned back to the war generals, the advisers, the few warriors, who watched her with bated breath as she eyed them all. "Die koning is nie dood nie," she announced in such a certain voice that no one could possibly argue with her. "Ons weet dit nie, en totdat ons dit doen, sal ons veg met alles wat ons het totdat hy terugkeer huis toe en my broer se kop rus op 'n snoek."

 _(_ _The King isn't dead. We don't know that for sure, and until we do, we will fight with everything we have until he returns home and my brother's head rests on a pike._ _)_

There was hushed silence for a few seconds, until a elder soldier perked up, hand rasied in the air. "Wat sou ons hê ons moet doen?" He asked in a criticizing voice.

 _(What would you have us do?)_

"Bel ons alle bataljonne, die mans, die perde, elke soldaat wat ons het. Ons moet fokus op herlewing en versterking van ons weermag vir 'n aanval op Jonathon Morgenstern. Ons moet bondgenote vind. soveel as wat ons doen. Beveel alle smiders en ystermakers aan om soveel wapens as wat hulle kan, te smid. Ons optog op Alicante wanneer ons kragte voorberei word. Waarsku alle Idrisianen van die oorlog en vertel hulle dit is hier," she answered in a voice that did not entirely sound like her own.

 _(Call back all battalions, the men, the horses, every soldier we have. We need to focus on rearming and strengthening our army for an attack on Jonathon Morgenstern. We need to find allies, most of all. Common friends who hate Alicantean expansionism as much as we do. Order all blacksmiths and iron masons to forge as many weapons as they can. We march on Alicante when our forces are prepared. Warn all Idrisians of war and tell them it is here.)_

Glancing off to the side, Clary saw that Isabelle beamed at her with pride, hands clasped together; even Alec, sullen, broody Alec, looked impressed as he raised his eyebrows at her, something like a smile tugging at his lips.

The war room was once again alive with noise as each person began to dish out roles, glancing at the Koningin to make sure it was alright with her. Men and women filtered in and out of the room, asking her for confirmations about numbers and other such interests. She answered them with ease as Isabelle came up to her, smiling at her friend with absolute adoration.

They grasped each other's arms in a hand lock as they grinned at each other. "He would be so proud of you," Isabelle whispered to her as the room bustled around them, noise drowned out.

Clary nodded, suddenly feeling sad. "I know, Izzy. I know. And I was wondering if you would be one of my generals, the leader of my armies. I need someone I can trust," she asked in a low voice, leading her friend away.

"Of course. Anything for you," Isabelle squeezed her arm, her warm familiarity comforting to Clary.

"Good. That's what I need right now. Go outside and gather what men you can, and the spear maidens as well. Start amassing and training recruits, but no children under seventeen are allowed to enter. Tell them to protect their villages from any outside threats and to send scouts out to warn the cities closest to the border," Clary said to her, patting her shoulder; Isabelle, in all her wonderfulness, kissed her forehead and stalked off, snapping her fingers as two guards followed after her.

Clary beamed at her retreating back, before shaking her head and glancing at Alec. He wandered over to her, looking impressed, but still tried to hide it. "Koningin," he said respectfully, bowing his head in a show of good faith. "That was...alright."

Smiling, Clary sighed. Some things, it seemed, would remain the same.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" He asked in a quiet voice, hands behind his back.

"Yes, there is." Alec looked up, surprised. "I need you to help me. Be my second-in-command," Clary told him as he stared at her in shock.

"Me?"

"You're smart, Alec. You have experience in battle and while you may not have a lot, the Koning seems to trust you more than anything. I need good, capable people around me, and I need them advising me as well. I need you to be that person," Clary told him in the most sincre voice that she could hopefully manage.

Alec remained to look taken aback, but soon collected himself and nodded with a jerk of his head. "I accept, Koningin. I would consider it an honour," he replied in his voice of usual cool, but she could tell he was grateful.

"Good," Clary said, clapping her hands together. "Because we have a long road ahead of us."

A very long road, indeed.

* * *

 **All right! What did you guys think? Please review for this kind of cliffhanger!**

 **Also, remember to read CHAPTER 4!**

 **I worked so hard on it!**

 **Chapter 4...**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	35. Chapter 35 (A Childhood Love)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 35. A Childhood Love**

 **Hi guys, another chapter! Quite proud of myself :) Please let me know what you think! As usual, I love all of your reviews! There is a suorise appearance, which I hope you like. Let me know what you think of them!**

 **Things are gonna start heating up! Ooh, keep reading! Love you all!**

* * *

 **Chapter 35.**

 **-Clary-**

Clary's dreams were nothing but a blur of something that once was; figments of a healthy, returned Jace who held her in his arms, her father, happy and alive, calling her name as he stroked her hair and spoke of his joy, Bryta who sang her songs in a voice so loud even Clary cringed and and finally, her mother, who was made up from stories her father had told her about. A smudge of red hair, slanted eyes, slender hands.

With an aching heart, she remembered those she had lost and those she still loved.

She was so lost in her dreams that she didn't notice the creak of her door as it was opened, and the nearly silent tread of footsteps that padded over to her bed.

However, she was torn from her dreams as an urgent hand shook her awake. "Koningin!" A voice, terrified and quivering, hissed into her ear. "Koningin, please awaken, it is urgent!" Clary groaned into her pillow, the feeling in her legs just returning as she struggled to open her eyes, feeling them stick together. Once her vision straightened out and she was able to make out blurry figures, she sat up, rubbing her eyes. There was a small, wide-eyed girl who was breathing heavily, her features made out from the hallway's soft candlelight.

"What are you doing in here?" Clary asked in a hoarse voice, slipping out from her bed; groping for a candlestick, she lit it and the room was suddenly basked in light. "What's wrong?"

The girl shook her head, fear in her eyes. Panic overwhelmed Clary as she stood, in the deathly cold of night, in nothing more than her nightgown. "Is it the Koning?" Clary's voice was nothing more than a squeak.

The girl shook her head again, looking terrified. "It is a foreigner, Koningin. He has entered here, into Idris. The guards have taken him into custody, and await your orders," she whispered, hands over her mouth.

Clary's blood ran cold as she gaped at the young girl. "What? A foreigner? What does he want?" Clary demanded as she quickly dressed into more appropriate clothing, grabbing the first thing she could find.

"He says...he says he wishes to speak to you, Koningin."

"Me?" Clary stared at her.

The young girl nodded in confirmation.

Grabbing her hair, Clary yanked it back into a tight braid, quickly drawing on her black war paint into spiral patterns around her eyes. Past Konings and Koningins would often wear such paint, made from dark clay, to intimidate others, especially foreigners who ventured into Idris to court it's people. Fitting the slots of her clothes with Jace's dagger and her second favorite knife, she stood straight, tilting her head and squaring her jaw. "Take me to him," she ordered as the two of them exited the room, trying to make out the path in the soft glow of candlelight.

"He is in the courtroom, Koningin. He awaits you, with the other guards," the girl explained as they hurried away.

"Go find Brother Alec. He sleeps in-" Clary started, but was quickly interrupted by her.

"I know where Brother Alec sleeps," the girl blurted out, before falling silent, her cheeks coloring a bright red. Clary looked at her in surprise fr a moment; of course, Alec was good-looking, but she hadn't really noticed it before. However, given his preferences, she thought that the girl was barking up the wrong tree.

Oh well. The best of luck to her.

"Good. Awake him and tell him to meet me in the courtroom, along with the other guards." The young girl, with still slightly pink cheeks, nodded shyly, before scurrying off to retrieve Clary's second-in-command. Clary, in turn, veered left and hurried off to the courtroom; two guards quickly opened the doors for her and followed her as she stormed in, her red shoulder cape flowing behind her.

The courtroom had already been prepared for her; fierce candlelight bloomed from each corner of the room as patterns and shapes in the form of demons and monsters. Guards had flooded in, each armed to the teeth, and they were crowded around someone, with spears and swords pointed towards the mystery man. With haste, she hurried down the grand stairs, her footsteps echoing around the vast room with surprising clarity.

Clary strained her head to try and make out any features of the man; wariness and suspicion gnawed at her as she made out a mop of curly, brown hair, streaked with grey.

Her breath catching in her throat, she frowned, hurrying her pace.

Who could it possibly be?

The man was kneeling, his head bowed as the guards crowded around him, tension palpable in the air as they growled and hissed at him. Yet, as Clary neared him, she noticed he did not seem to feel any kind of fear; he did not wince, or cry out or panic or do anything of the sort.

He remained stoic, complacent.

Clary's footsteps quietened, and she approached him warily. Just as she was about to reach him, Alec ran into tje room, now completely awake in his sleeping gear, two swords in each hand. The foreign man looked up at this noise and his eyes met Clary's, who stopped in her tracks.

He was possibly a man of forty, maybe slightly older; this was told through the aged lines etched across his face, the laugh lines crinkled at the edges of his dark blue eyes. Though he was crouched on his knees, Clary could tell he was tall, with a solid, lean build that spoke of years of hard training and work. He was dressed in travelling clothes; a thick, black cloak adorned his back, slightly ragged and misshapen, and a heavy tunic dressed his body and he also wore leather boots and a metallic belt. He looked straggly, with a rough beard and sunken eyes. Bound with thick rope, he remained docile, tied up quite complacently.

Their eyes never left each other as Clary straightened herself, slowly making her way over to the foregin man. "As hy iets dreigend maak, vermoor hom," Clary barked at the guards, her gaze never straying from the man's; they nodded, arranging their weapons in perfect unison.

 _(If he does anything threatening, kill him.)_

"Who are you?" She asked the man in harsh English, glaring at him with all the fierceness she could muster.

The man gazed up at her with an expression that Clary could not quite place. He attempted to rise to his feet but was met with resistance as the guards quickly pushed him back down. "I am Lucian Garroway, Queen Clarissa Morgenstern. I am from Aelunor, and was originally a member of the King's most trusted circle, a knight of his army and kingsguard," he replied in a soft, non-threatening voice.

Clary stared at him in shock, staring at him like the rest of the people in the room did as well. Alec, now by her side, looked down in a surprised expression as silence filled the room.

Quickly recovering, Clary scoffed. "And why would a former member of King Rowan's kingsguard come here to Idris?" She asked him, her eyes still narrowed.

He looked up at her with solemn, blue-grey eyes. "I am only here to offer my services to you, Your Grace. I have heard of the war that has erupted between Idris and Alicante, and have revoked my services to the Destheons so I can serve you."

"And why should I trust you? Let you serve me?" Clary snarled, snapping her jaws like an animal in a hunting frenzy. The guards picked up on her rage and reacted, their swords and spears closing in on the foreigner. "You were a knight who belonged to King Rowan's knightguard, and now you come to my kingdom and beg to serve me. I know my brother broke a pact when he married me to the Barbarian Lord and undermined the treaty my father had made with Rowan. For all I know, you could be here to kill me and my unborn child under the orders of your king. So I ask you again, why should I trust a man who served the descendant of a usurper who took my family's throne?"

The man, Lucian, looked at her with such faith that it startled even her. "I would never harm a child of Jocelyn Fairchild," he said softly, bowing his head submissively.

There was only silence, until-

"You knew my mother?" Clary asked in a strangled voice. "How?"

"We grew up together, just south of Aelunor, where the Fairchild's resided. Your mother's father, your grandfather, took me in as a ward when I was a young child," Lucian explained; the guards glanced at Clary, and upon seeing her expression, they reluctantly moved away from him as she allowed him to stand. "We were best friends." His face was happy, faraway, left in a time of what used to be. "And then she was promised to your father, Valentine. I never saw her after that again." His expression, once realized and cheerful, grew sad and dispassionate.

"Why? Why not see her again?" Clary asked in a hushed voice, eager for any semblance of memory about her dead mother.

Lucian's expression grew pained and his head hung in shame. "I-I was a young man then, Clarissa. I loved your mother and when she left, I grew angry and selfish. She sent me letters, begging me to come visit her, but I refused. Jocelyn especially talked about Jonathon, and her unborn child." His eyes focused on Clary. "You."

"And you wish to serve me now?"

The man nodded, dropping to one knee. "If you would have me, Queen Clarissa of Alicante, then I will willingly serve you until the end of my days."

Clary stared at him, still struggling to comprehend what she had just been told. The guards looked at her, awaiting her orders, but she had nothing to say to any of them. However, finally, she drew her hands to clasp them together and sighed. "Koningin. If you are to serve me, you must call me for what I am. The Queen of Idris," she told him in a stern voice.

He nodded, bowing his head. "Then, I, Lucian of House Garroway, swear to serve you loyally and on my family's honor, never betray you or do anything to bring shame upon you or your house," he said, reciting the words perfectly as he said the vow.

"Lucian Garroway, I, Clarissa Morgenstern, Koningin of Idris, gladly accept your vow and welcome you to the service of House Morgenstern as a knight," she said the words softly as Lucian beamed in joy, looking gracious. "Now arise, good sir, and accept your knighthood." Clary drew her sword from her sheath and tapped each of his shoulders once; he rose to his feet, grinning as he did.

The guards, less wary than they were ebfore but still cautious, watychjed the exchange with wide eues, their weapons hanging limply by there sides. Alec, with eagle-eyed obervsation, also observed the interaxtion and looked like he wanted to say something, but bit his tounge. Clary glanced at him as he frowned, looking troubled. "Wat is dit, Alec? Jy vertrou hom nie?" She said to him in Idrisian, raising her eyebrows.

 _(What is it, Alec? You do not trust him?)_

"Hy is 'n vreemdeling, my koningin. Ek vertrou nie buitelandse mans en hul betekenislose geloftes nie.," he scowled at Lucian, distrust clear in his icy-blue eyes.

 _(_ _He is a stranger, my queen. I don't trust foreign men and their meaningless vows._ _)_

Lucian, who now stood in his chains, watched them in confusion as the two of them conversed in rapid Idrisian. Clary eyed him for a second, before turning back to Alec. "Hy het my ma, Alec, geken. Ek glo hy praat die waarheid. En as hy dit nie doen nie, dan sal ek hom doodmaak," she said in a note of dianlity, but Alec still looked displeased.

 _(He knew my mother, Alec. I believe he speaks the truth. And, if he does not, then I'll kill them.)_

"Hoekom kom hy nou, Koningin? Na al hierdie tyd het hy geweet van jou bestaan, maar hy kies nou om jou te ontmoet? En veral oorweging van die feit dat ons in oorlog met u broer is? Dit lyk agterdogtig, met inagneming van die vang van die Koning en die aard van sy lojaliteit," Alec told her in a quiet voice; it was now that Clary knew she made the right decision in choosing him as her second-in-command.

 _(Why does he come now, Koningin? After all this time, he knew of your existence, but he chooses now to come and meet you? And especially considering the fact that we are at war with your brother? It seems suspicious, considering the capture of the King and the nature of his loyalty.)_

Clary considered this, frowning as she stared at the man who swore to have loved her mother. Alec was right, and in times such as this, could she afford to make silly mistakes. "Why do you come to me now, Lucian Garroway? Why not before the capture of my husband, or when you had heard news of my engagement?" She said coldly to him, eyes narrowed.

Lucian looked up at her with wide, blue eyes. "I admit, Koningin, that I had not thought of meeting you, but when I had learnt of a betrayal amongst your midst, I knew that I had to come to your aid immediately," he said in a low voice.

This caught Clary's attention almost immediately as she stared at him in shock. "A betrayal?" She said in what sounded like a growl. She felt the guard's eyes on her's, but espeically Alec's, who observed her most closely.

He nodded, eyes downcast. "Once King Rowan had passed, I had learnt of the news. The news, of what I had heard, almost killed you and your unborn child."

Clary's heartbeat quickened. "The assassin? The one hired to kill me?"

"Yes. However, it was not just anyone who had ordered your death. It was King Rowan himself, who had learned of your pregnancy and your child, and was threatened by the claim your children could potentially have on the throne of Aelunor. So, he hired the Red Fury, who had a patocular hatred for Idrisians, to murder you and consquenty end the threat."

Furious, Clary felt her heart roar and her veins simmer in anger. "It was King Rowan." It was not a question.

Lucian nodded once again. "And it was just that he had learned of your engagement. It was who he had learned it from," he told her.

"What? Who?"

The room felt very warm all of a sudden as hot prinpicks of heat prodded at her skin. The tension rose as silence joined it and everyone stared at Lucian, desperate for the answer.

"Magnus Bane, Koningin. He was promised an end to his exile and the restoration of his practise as well."

Clary couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, she couldn't even think. Her thoughts went blank and her mind went numb and a dull buzzing sound filled her ears. There was no feeling in her body and she found she could force no words from here mouth. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a shell-shocked Alec, who stood gaping, as any color from his cheeks was drained.

Could it be?

Magnus Bane, a sworn friend of her's?

Who had helped her countless times, given her counsel and offered his support?

No, it was impossible.

He could never.

"You're lying," she hissed, refusing to believe it. "Magnus would never betray me." Lucian looked at her with pity in her eyes.

"I wish it were true. I know that Bane was a close friend of your mother's and she adored him so, but I fear it is the truth," he said in a sympathetic voice. He reached into his pocket, drawing out a piece of parchment. The guards watched him warily as he approached Clary slowly, handing her the paper. Hesitating, she took it with trembling fingers, opening it up as her eyes flitted across the page. The letter had the Destheon seal stamped across the back; Clary swallowed, her heart thumping in her chest.

 _From the hand of Rowan Destheon, this document recognizes that Magnus Bane is officially pardoned for his crimes due to his services to the throne regarding the whereabouts of Clarissa Morgenstern and her relations with the Barbarian Lord._

Clary stared down at the document in horror, clutching it in her hands.

No, no, no.

It couldn't be true.

But, here was the truth, lying in her hands.

Anger soared in her chest. Why did she trust when that trust was snatched away from her and crushed over and over again?

She was suddenly aware of everyone's eyes on her, and she looked up with a hopefully blank face. Taking a deep breath, she tilted her chin up and clenched her jaw. "Bring me Magnus Bane," she ordered in a flat, dominant voice. "If necessary, you are allowed to use physical force." Alec looked at her in horror; Clary glanced at him as he stared, for once, vulnerable and completely aware of his own emotions, at her with...fear in his eyes. Frowning, but completely uncaring, she turned away as the guards barked orders, rushing away.

She turned to Lucian, who watched her cautiously. Unsheathing her knife, she raised it; unflinchingly, he watched her calmly. She sliced through his bonds and he nodded gratefully at her, rubbing his sore, red wrists.

"Don't ever betray me," she told him, her eyes never leaving his.

"Never," he replied, his voice solemn. Clary turned away from him as she forced her tears down, telling herself that a Morgenstern did not cry. However, as she sat down with her elders, discussing the arrest of Magnus Bane, she felt pretty close to it.

* * *

 **What did you think? Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	36. Chapter 36 (A Traitor's Cries)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 36. A Traitor's Cries**

 **OMG! Another chapter? I can't believe how much I'm writing these days, it's amazing. Because I all adore you, here you go again! This is a bit of a heavy chapter, but please read! And also, review, because I love to hear what you think!**

 **The end is nearing for this story, which makes me a little sad, but then I can start more stories, and keep sharing them with you. There was someone who asked if I would continue my other stories, and I think I will do most of them, but I have tons of other ideas as well that I think you will like! I'm super stoked to start writing them as well.**

 **This story will probably have about nine or ten more chapters, which I hope you like. There are twists, and shocking turns and other such things which I hope you like.**

 **God, I say that a lot.**

 **Anyways, please enjoy and review! I love all of you!**

* * *

 **Chapter 36.**

 **-Clary-**

It was early morning; over the peaks of the mountains, the sun rose as it bled red, yellow and orange throughout the dark parchment of the night sky. Clary, with a sense of underwhelming calm and clarity, watched it as she prepared herself for his arrival. She wore angry-red robes of war and strength and unity, which spoke of the impending battle that threatened them all. The balcony on which she stood gave an amazing view of the farlands of Idris and the countryside, which bloomed in beauty of the late summer sun. Breathing in the smell of the ripened flowers and summer breeze, Clary felt that she could almost relax as she was alone in complete solidarity.

However, it was then that she heard a knock on the balcony doors, disrupting her thoughts. "Enter," she said, eyes still facing the sun.

The door swung open, and someone, tall and heavy, walked over to stand next to her. Glancing towards them, Clary saw that it was Alec, who looked freshly washed with new clothes and wet hair. Yet, there were dark circles under his eyes and something like terror twitched in his jaw as his eyes moved restlessly, darting from spot to spot. "Koningin," he murmured, as his jittery hands tapped against his thigh.

"Alec," Clary responded as a breeze wafted through the air, her hair flowing around her shoulders. "What are you doing here?" He didn't seem to be able to respond, but rather just pursed his lips, sealing in a shaky breath.

Clary didn't want to ask what was wrong.

However, she suspected what was.

"Magnus Bane will be here soon," she told him in a flat, uncaring voice; however, at the mention of her former friend's name, her voice hitched. "And he'll stand before the jury to contest his crimes."

Alec cleared his throat, his eyes downcast. "What do you think will happen to him?" He asked in a small, downtrodden voice that sounded entirely unlike his usual, cool voice. "Will he...will he live?"

Clary didn't respond as they stared at the sunrise together, standing side-by-side, watching the slow rise of the yellow sun. And then, she finally let out a sigh, brushing her hair behind her shoulders as she spotted a carriage and eight armed guards on horseback accompanying them. He was here. "I have to prepare myself," she said in a voice that she hoped sounded strong. "Get ready, and meet me in the courtroom." She turned away from him, something darkening in her heart as Alec stared at her, something like panic brewing in his eyes.

 _Oh, Jace. What would you do if you were here with me, as it should be?_

Clary knew what Jace would do if he was here; he would make the right decision, based on his head and not his heart. And now, without him here, without knowing he was alive or well, she had to be strong like him, and not fail him or his son. She couldn't allow her fondness for Magnus or his friendship with her mother to cloud her judgement.

She had to be smart, and do what her husband would do.

Her descent down the stairs was like any other dreaded thing; it passed in such a quick amount of time that by the time she blinked, she was already halfway down the stairs, accompanied by three spear women and two guards who flanked behind her. She took a shuddering breath as she approached the courtroom doors, squaring her jaw as she steeled her stomach and tightened her grip on her dagger.

Jace's dagger.

Think with your head, not your heart.

It was then that she suddenly saw Lucian, who was being closely watched by two guards who eyed him with suspicion. Though he had been accepted as part of her guard, Clary was still cautious to make sure he was really who he said he was, and that his intentions were as honorable as he swore they were.

He was treated well, though. Clary had made sure of that. Dressed in fresh clothes, fed with good food and a nice, warm bed to sleep in. The guards were merely a precaution.

Clary did not want a repeat of Magnus and his own betrayal.

Lucian rose to his feet as Clary neared him, ignoring the guards who glowered at him. "Koningin," he said in a very respectful manner, bowing his head. He looked much healthier, with his face clean of grime and dirt, dressed in Idrisian clothing with combed hair and freshly-shaven face, his scruffy beard gone.

"Lucian," she nodded curtly in his direction as he joined her, walking alongside her with his usual sense of calm and clarity.

"Are you ready?" He asked her as they were about to reach the courtroom. Clary stopped in her tracks, looking carefully at him. "To do what needs to be done?"

Clary considered this for a second, before shaking her head and clenching her stomach. Her son, her husband, her people, would be all the strength she needed. "Yes. Whatever needs to be done," she whispered, mostly to herself. She nodded at the guards who stood by the door and they reached for the handles, hauling it open.

The giant, double-doors painted with Idrisian symbols of purity and strength, were swung open, squealing as they suddenly shuddered to a halt and Clary, in what felt like the slowest moment of her life, walked through them as the light flooded the dark hallway. The whole courtroom was filled with people, dressed in clothes that spoke of justice and truth. All eyes turned on her as she walked to the podium, settling down in her throne as she took a calming breath, her hands clenching the armrests of her seat, sharp nails splintering the wood. Lucian took to stand next to her, arms crossed over his stomach.

She jerked her head towards the door, for which she suspected Magnus was behind. "Stuur hom in," she said, pleased that there was no crack or stammer in her clear, concise voice.

 _(Send him in.)_

Just as the doors were about to open, Clary's eye caught Alec, who looked sickly, even ill as his slightly green face blurred in and out of Clary's peripheral vision. He seemed short of breath, looking terrified as his eyes, glazed and confused, met Clary's. Isabelle stood next to him as she gripped his arm, whispering something into his ear. However, it didn't seem to reassure him as he shook in fear. Somewhere, from a small corner in Clary's mind, she wondered what was wrong with him.

And why he would care if Magnus Bane was killed.

However, any thoughts of Alec and his somewhat vague connection with Bane were stripped away as a shimmer of glitter caught her eye and her attention was once again focused on the man who was currently being hauled into the courtroom, looking confused and angry. His usually calm and collected manner was disfigured; instead, his delicate features were twisted in rage. His spiky, glittery hair flopped off to a strange angle, looking rather dull and lifeless regarding it's usual glamour. The clothes he wore were torn and slightly ragged, making him seem less god-like and more...more like a regular man.

Magnus looked around the caught and spotted Clary as two guards dragged him towards her. She kept her facial expression neutral and was glad when she gave nothing away regarding her emotions. "Clary?" He said in a disbelieving voice, green eyes narrowed at her. "What are you doing-?"

"Magnus Bane," Clary interrupted, her voice clear and cold. "You have been bought to Idris under charges of conspiracy to the throne and assistance in a planned murder. How do you plead?"

It was probably one of the hardest things she had ever done; publicly bring one of her closest friends to trial and look him in the eye and accuse him of such crimes.

But it had to be done.

Magnus looked surprised as he was thrown at the feet of Clary's throne, his hands toed together. "Clary, what the hell are you talking about? Why did you order these men to storm my house and drag me here?"

Clary ignored his words, and scowled at him instead. "How do you plead?" She replied in what she hoped was a menacing voice.

"I plead innocence," he said in voice that was so convinced of his blamelessness.

"Oh?" Clary raised her eyebrows, straightening up in her chair. "You claim innocence? So, unless I am mistaken, it wasn't you who leaked information to King Rowan Desetheon about the whereabouts of me and my marriage to the Koning?" Magnus blanched at this, looking shell-shocked as he stammered, eyes wide as he stared at her. "And this," she drew out a piece of parchment from her breast coat pocket, "isn't a document from the late King Rowan, pardoning you from your exile?"

The whole courtroom had gone silent, watching the scene unfold with curiosity and a sense of tension that wrapped the room in a choke hold. Alec and Isabelle especially observed the spectacle with grim faces and nervous eyes. Magnus seemed to have no words but rather stared at Clary with blank eyes.

Clary, satisfied, leaned back in her chair as she glared at him, feeling a kind of vindictive pleasure at his lost expression. "So, do you deny this?" She asked in a soft, deadly voice.

Magnus swallowed, his lips pursed.

And then, finally-

"I didn't have a choice, Clary," he said in a sad, sad voice that broke her heart; however, she refused to show it. "I had no choice."

"I made the choice to trust you, as my mother did." Clary's voice held no emotion; instead, she stared impassively at him. "And I will not make that mistake again."

"Idris is not my home," Magnus continued, as if he had not heard her. "My home is across the sea, in Aelunor. Where my family is. Where everything I've ever known rests. I could never stay here, Clary. And I love you as I loved your mother, but I can't stay here."

"So you would risk my life, and my unborn child's?" She sneered at him, growing progressively angry as she thought, really thought, about what he did. Her son and husband were everything to her, and Magnus had threatened that, threatened their lives. She had almost died because of his actions, and there was no one in this world who could make her forgive him.

"I never thought they would hurt you, Clary. I never thought in a million years that they would ever kill a child, or harm you. I thought Jonathon would be punished, but I never dreamed-"

"Don't try and convince me that you care about me or my son!" She hissed at him, feeling hot tears prick at her eyes; she forced them down. "Not after everything you've done. Sold me out to a foreign king and threatened my life for your own selfish reasons."

Magnus looked desperate as he glanced around the hall, to every angry and impassive face. Finally, he landed on Alec, who seemed unable to move, to speak, to do anything at all. Green met blue as Alec raised his head; they stared at each other, in a way Clary couldn't describe. Reluctantly, Magnus tore his gaze away from Alec and it suddenly occurred to Clary that Magnus and Alec had a...relationship? She knew Alec definitely had a preference for men, considering his previous romantic feelings for Clary's husband, but Magnus?

She supposed it was possible, given their previous interactions. And, given his reaction at Magnus's arrest, it made sense that he would object, however silently, to it. However, Clary knew she had to do what needed to be done. Lucian shifted beside her, reminding her of what she had to do.

"Is there anything you can say for yourself, Magnus Bane?" Her voice was quiet, but spoke volumes as it echoed across the vast courtroom. "Anything at all?"

Magnus didn't say anything, but rather bowed his head.

And then-

"Your husband is alive."

Those four words jerked Clary into an upright position as she gaped at him; the entire courtroom joined her as they stared at him in complete shock. Mutterings and surprised whispers flitted throughout the room as Clary struggled to regain her senses.

Jace was alive?

Could it be true?

But, could she trust anything that Magnus said? Could it just be something he made up to save his own skin?

"What?" Her voice was strained. "How can you possibly know?"

Magnus stared up at her with remorseful eyes. "I have connections in Alicante. Your brother, Jonathon Morgenstern, had taken him prisoner and is keeping him in his castle as a hostage."

He was alive; captured, taken hostage but still alive. A part of Clary had perhaps always known, but it was true. She had to restrain herself from jumping up and down, screaming and crying. But then she realized.

It was Jonathon who had the love of her life.

Jonathon, who would torture, maim and injure, just so he could get what he wanted. Who was probably doing awful, awful things to Jace as they spoke.

No.

No, no, no.

What would he do to him?

Trying not to cry, Clary glanced at Magnus, who stared at her with wide, green, pleading eyes. "Clary, please."

Clary ignored him and rose to her feet, slowing descending down the stairs. "Magnus Bane," she said in an emotionless voice. "For crimes against the throne and conspiracy to murder, you are charged as guilty."

Magnus began to rise to his feet, shaking his head. "Clary, no, please," he said in a shaky voice.

"Based on the serious nature of your crime, I have decided to give you a sentence according to the severity of your treason." Her light footsteps were all that could be heard as she made her way down the podium.

"Clary..."

Almost in tears now, she reached him as they faced each other, Clary scowling at him. "You, Magnus Bane, are exiled from Idris. You have one day to take your possessions and leave." Clary was glad that nothing in her voice broke as her tone remained steely and strong. "And, should you ever return, you will be killed and your head stuck on a pike as a warning to anyone who would dare cross me again."

Darkness overwhelmed her and she reveled in it, allowing it to take the reins. Everyone in the courtroom had fallen silent and watched the exchange with wide eyes. Alec and Isabelle looked, shell-shocked, at Clary as she spouted off his sentence. In a dim corner of her mind, Clary wondered what they would think of her now. And if Alec would ever look at her again.

Magnus looked at her in horror as his arms fell limp, to his sides.

"The guards will escort you back to your residence, and make sure you leave. If you resist, there is nothing I can do," she said in a soft voice. She turned away from him as she tilted her head up, blinking her tears away. "Haal hom uit my gesig," she told the guards in a breathless voice.

 _(Get him out of my sight.)_

Magnus was once again hauled away, his disbelieving face burned into Clary's memory forever.

Something she would never forget.

* * *

It was night, once again, and Clary embraced the darkness as she stood out on her balcony again, hands gripping the railing, breathing in the late summer air. She looked out to the ink-blue sky, thinking of only one person. _I will come for you,_ she thought, _I will find you, vou sueni, no matter what it takes._ _No matter who bleeds. And I will kill my brother, so blood has answered blood._ She took another deep breath, calmed by those thoughts.

There was another knock on the door, but Clary already knew who it was. "Come in, Alec," she said to him as the door creaked open. He came, once again, to stand next to her and nodded his head in greeting.

"Clary," he replied, but there was something wrong with his voice. It sounded husky, like he had been crying. Clary glanced at him, and his eyes looked red-rimmed and his nose blotchy.

Another awkward silence.

"It had to be done." Clary's voice was all but a whisper. "You knew that."

"Did it?" Alec's voice was soft, cautious, sad.

"I apologize for ruining what you had between you two, but not for what I did. You know what he did, Alec. You heard him," Clary breathed out in anger.

Alec considered that. "I loved him, you know." This show of vulnerability and tenderness in Alec's voice surprised her as she looked at him in shock.

Clary inclined her head at that. "So did I. That's why he isn't dead." He didn't respond. "Are you going to go with him?" Clary asked in a flat voice.

Much to her surprise, Alec shook his head. "I swore to protect you, and your unborn child. I will not abandon you now, not after everything that's happened. And now that we know that Jac-the Koning, is alive, I would never leave." Clary was once again reminded how much he really loved Jace, how strong their bond was.

"We will get him back home. Whatever it takes," Clary told him; she hoped that the fierceness in her voice convinced her as much as it did him.

"Is...is there a possibility that Magnus could return home one day?" There was hope, hesitation, in his voice as he glanced her way.

Clary didn't answer that, for she didn't know the answer herself. "Magnus leaves in about eighteen hours. You may go see him off, but if I catch you helping him in any way..." She trailed off, sending him a look that needed no words.

He nodded eagerly, before bowing respectfully, and heading out to see Magnus. Clary was surprised at his lack of resistance to Magnus's banishment, but he knew Clary was faced with no other choice than Magnus's death. The exile was a less crueler choice.

But she knew what she had done.

Her love for Magnus had prevented her from killing him, and she couldn't make that mistake again.

It was her heart that had decided, and not her head.

* * *

 **A bit of a heavy chapter, but still...**

 **Do you think he deserved it? Please let me know!**

 **Please let me know what you think! I love your reviews and opinions!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	37. Chapter 37 (A Liar's Promise)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 37. A Liar's Promise**

 **Here is another chapter...wow...I am just burning through these :( Sad the end is coming! This is kind of long, it took me ages and it deleted itself like two times, which was fun. Tried typing up 'how to recover deleted fics' but weirdly came up with some other fanfics, which was very helpful!**

 **OMG! 900 reviews? Seriously, thank you so, so, so much! It's amazing how far this story has come, and with all your support and amazing feedback, it's actually not hard to believe. I love you all so much and it's amazing how we have bonded over an amazing series and our favorite characters! I'm gonna miss writing this, I admit, but still, it's been a thrilling ride!**

 **Anyways, please let me know what you guys think, as usual, I love your feedback! I say anyways a lot, as I have recently noticed. Bleh...please enjoy!**

 **BTW, there will not be a lot of Clace in the next few chapters, but it will be worth it, I promise! The payoff is extreme, I already know what's gonna happen and you may hate me, but I have my reasons! What happens next will be pretty cool!**

 **What happens in this chapter is what a lot of you have been predicting!** **Love you all! As usual, please read and review (I love your comments)!**

* * *

 **Chapter 37.**

 **-Clary-**

Men and women marched past Clary, armed to the teeth with swords and spears and maces, bowing at her as she nodded curtly at them. All battalions and soldiers had been called back to re-group in Idris; weary and defeated, they straggled back to their home, only to be stuffed into armor once more with a sword in each hand, ordered into a rank with little to no time to mourn their dead brothers and sisters.

It was time for war. The dead would be mourned once the battle was won.

Clary, with heavy eyes and no sleep, sat alone in the council, surrounded by letters and random bits of parchment, blotted with ink and splotches of ale. She winced as her son kicked her especially hard in the ribs, almost as if he was demanding her attention. Placing a hand on her swollen stomach, she spread her fingers, humming softly to him.

Now that her husband was gone, it was now up to Clary to prepare her country for war. This meant scourging for allies (which, by itself, was a phenomenal threat, as Idris had all but scared off their neighbors with their constant pillaging and plundering), finding more material for weapons and organize ranks, as well as strengthening the weakening borders of Idris.

All in all, nothing too hard.

Clary growled as she tugged at her hair, rubbing at her eyes and knocking over a bottle of ink. Cursing, she mopped it up with a spare rag, close to tears as she ground her teeth. Her hair was half-sticking up, the other half a curly mess she hadn't bothered to wash for a few days. There was a gentle knock on the door; without bothering to look up, Clary invited them in, grabbing a spare, fresh new piece of parchment.

Soft footsteps drew her attention and she glanced up as they spoke. "Koningin, as ek jou iets vra?" It was Malachi, leaning against his staff as milky, translucent eyes looked into her own. The war had taken it's own toll on the old man, who looked even more haggard and elderly than usual. Deep lines cut through his forehead; he stood, his back hunched, his balding scalp mottled and spotted with age.

 _(Koningin, if I may ask you something)_

She nodded, frowing, folding up her map as she gestured at him. "Baie goed. Wat is dit?" She said in a distracted voice, searching for ink.

 _(Very well. What is it?)_

"Waarom nie Magnus Bane vir sy misdade uitvoer nie? Sy optrede was sekerlik strafbaar met die dood, en as die woord oor sy vrylating uitgekom het, kon dit dalk sleg van jou kant gewees het," he asked in a hoarse voice, the bells on his staff rattling and ringing.

 _(Why not execute Magnus Bane for his crimes? His actions were surely punishable by death, and if word had gotten out about his release, it may have looked bad on your part.)_

"Daar was geen punt om die verraaier te laat gaan nie. Hy kan nie terugkeer huis toe nie, selfs met sy pardon," Clary tolf him as she scribbled quickly across a piece of parchment, the ink blotting and staining as her hand moved across the page in quick cursive.

 _(There was no point in letting the traitor go. He can't return home, even with his pardon.)_

"Wat? Wat bedoel jy ook al?" Malachi asked in confusion as a line creased between his eyebrows.

 _(What? Whatever do you mean?)_

"Koning Rowan Destheon, die laaste seun van die Usurpers, wat die troon van my voorvaders af weggeneem het, is dood, het dronk en skerp op 'n snoek gevind. Sy seun het oorgeneem en hy het die terugkeer van die kluit uitdruklik verbied en het sy pardon amptelik omgeslaan. Hy het nêrens om te gaan, en geen bondgenote om te draai nie. Ek het daarvan geweet toe ek hom vonnis gegee het," Clary explained patiently, looking up at the old man who stared back at her, relaisation in his dull eyes.

 _(King Rowan Destheon, the last son of the Usurpers who took the throne away from my ancestors, is dead, found drunk and skewered on a pike. His son has taken over, and he has expressly forbidden the return of the warlock, and has officially overturned his pardon. He has nowhere to go, and no allies to turn to. I made sure of that when I gave him his sentence.)_

"Maar hoe? Hoe kon jy moontlik geweet het dat die seun koning Bane se pardon sou omdraai?" Malachi took a seat from across her, his knobbly fingers shaking with effort.

 _(But, how? How could you possibly known that the boy king would overturn Bane's pardon?)_

"Jy het vergeet, Malachi," she reminded him, eager to illustarate the former knight's purpose. "Ons het nou 'n binneste bron, 'n man wat die afgelope agtien jaar in die riddersirkel deurgebring het. Lucian Garroway was teenwoordig vir die seun se koning se verklaring, aangesien hy vir die meeste dinge in Aelunor was. En nou dat ons weet dat hulle verantwoordelik was vir die poging tot moord op my lewe en my seun, het ons hul geheime meer as ooit nodig."

 _(You forget, Malachi. We have an inside source now, a man who spent the last eighteen years in the knight's circle. Lucian Garroway was present for the boy king's declaration, as he was for most things in Aelunor. And now that we know they were responsible for the attempted assassination on my life and my son's, we need their secrets more than ever.)_

Malachi looked at her with a toothless smile, bowing his head in respect. "Ek het verkeerd gegaan oor jou intelligensie, Koningin. U is dalk slimmer as wat ek ooit kon verwag," he said in a gravelly voice.

 _(I was wrong about your intelligence, Koningin. You are perhaps smarter than even I could ever anticipate.)_

Clary, who rarely smiled these days, sent him a half-grin, before bending her head over her letter, finishing it with a flourish of her signature. Just as she was about to seal it in an envelope, the council room doors were flung open and she looked up, irritated, as a crusade of arguing men and women burst into the room. She rose her feet, raising her hand as the squabbling died down and they looked to her.

One man stepped forward, bowing as he stammered, slicking his hair behind his ears. "My Koningin, dit is dringend. Die stamme het gehoor van die koning se gevangenskap en is opstandig teen die stad se wagte wat daarheen gestuur is om hulle te beskerm," he choked out, blinking nervously.

 _(My Queen, it is urgent. The clans have heard of the King's capture and are rebelling against the city's guards who have been sent there to protect them.)_

Clary's jaw twitched in annoyance as she comprehended the news. A rebellion in her ranks, in the midst of an ongoing war, was the last thing she needed right now. She wanted to scream, but instead coposed herself and met the eyes that stared so deserpately at her. "Bestel die wagte om enigiemand wat weerstand bied of rebelle te arresteer. Ons kan nie nou 'n muitery bekostig nie, nie met alles wat aangaan nie. En maak seker dat daar geen nuus hiervan uitkom nie. As my broer hiervan hoor, sal hy sekerlik aanval," she said in a clear voice.

 _(Order the guards to arrest anyone who resists or rebels. We cannot afford a mutiny now, not with everything else that is going on. And make sure no news of this gets out. If my brother hears of this, he will surely attack.)_

The man nodded in relief as he practically ran from the room, nodding vigorously. She turned back to the other waiting people who seemed eargerly to share their news. A woman, a spear woman, stepped forward as she bowed. "'N Bataljon is gisteraand deur Alicante soldate aangeval toe hulle teruggetrek het. Ons weet nie hoeveel oorlewendes daar is nie. Wat moet ons doen?" She asked; the war paint that was smeared across her face was bloodied and scars cut across her cheek.

 _(A battalion was attacked by Alicante soldiers last night as they were retreating. We don't know how many survivors there are. What are we to do?)_

Clary took a deep breath as she looked squarely at the woman. "Vind uit hoeveel soldate leef en kry hulle terug by die huis. Tend aan die gewondes en versterk ons grense met meer patrollies en verdubbel die getalle in die swakste dorpe, die naaste aan Alicante. As my broer daarin slaag om deur hulle te kom, verloor ons ons eerste lyn van verdediging," she told the spear women, who nodded, exiting the room.

 _(Find out how many soldiers are alive and get them back home. Tend to the wounded and strengthen our borders with more patrols and double the numbers in our weakest villages closest to Alicante. If my brother manages to get through them, we lose our first line of defense.)_

This, being here, finding solutions to problems, was what Clary was meant to do. This was her territory, what she was born to do. It had never felt more natural to her.

And, for the first time, she had hope.

 _I am coming, vou sueni._

A balding, middle-aged man stepped forward next, his hands rubbing against each other. "My Koningin, dit is nie net die probleem van rebellies en gewonde soldate nie. Die getalle van ons weermag dui daarop dat ons nie die mannekrag het om Alicante self te aanvaar nie," he said in a small voice, nose twitching.

 _(My Queen, it is not just the problem of rebellions and wounded soldiers. The numbers of our army indicates that we do not have the manpower to take on Alicante itself.)_

Clary frowned at that, shaking her head. "Hoe is dit moontlik? Ek het gesê dat ons een van die sterkste en grootste leërs van alle koninkryke gehad het," she argued.

 _(How is that possible? I was told that we had one of the strongest and largest armies of all kingdoms.)_

The man exchanged looks with the other men of the room. "Met die eerste bataljon dood, en sommige weier om te veg, is ons weermag aansienlik kleiner. Ek sien geen manier om 'n weermag groot genoeg te maak om Alicante aan te pak nie," he said weakly, looking dejected.

 _(With the first battalion dead, and some refusing to fight, our army is significantly smaller. I-I see no way in amassing an army large enough to take on Alicante.)_

Clary had nothing left to say. Rubbing her temples, she turned her back on them. "Uit. Ek sal jou in 'n sekonde sien," she said in a flat voice, pointing at the door.

 _(Out. I'll see to you in a second.)_

They clambered to get out, each murmuring their apologies as they quietly exited the room, closing the door with a small thud as they left. Clary returned to her chair, sinking into it as she breathed out in exasperation. Only Malachi remained, still seated as his rattled breaths filled the silence of the room. "Wat sal ek nou doen?" She asked, mostly to herself.

 _(What will I do now?)_

Malachi shrugged, milky eyes droopy. "Wat jy moet doen," he croaked softly.

 _(What you have to do.)_

Clary looked at him questioningly. He stood, his legs wobbling as he walked over to her. "Jy is nie net iemand nie, Clarissa Morgenstern. U is die heerser van Idris, die Koningin van ons mense. Jy moet beheer neem en doen wat reg is. En wat reg is, is gewoonlik die moeilikste om te doen, maar dit moet gedoen word," he told her, and Clary could see the great warrior he once was as he stood above her, looking at her with pride. "Wat het jy nou nodig, Clarissa Morgenstern?"

 _(You aren't just anyone, Clarissa Morgenstern. You are the ruler of Idris, the Queen of our people. You must take control, and do what is right. And what is right is usually the hardest thing to do, but it must be done.) (_ _What do you need right now, Clarissa Morgenstern?)_

Clary thought about this question, before rising to her seat. She walked over to the table, where the game still stood. The first battalion, and half the second, where knocked out. The Koning was still in Alicante, where the remaining pieces also stood. The warlock was tossed aside to the White Cities; Magnus, banished from Idris and Aelunor.

"I need an army," Clary whispered to herself in English, picking up a small piece of wood, carved into a representation for the goddess of war.

And then it came to her.

She stood straight, her mind racing as her breathing became quicker. Malachi watched her with his usual calm demaneour, leaning against his staff. She looked at him, buzzing with energy. "Vind my Maiea en broer Alec. Nou asseblief," she ordered; he nodded, bowing as he did so.

 _(Find me Maiea and Brother Alec. Now, please.)_

Exiting the room, she quickly ran to her own bedchambers, heart pounding so hard in her chest she thought it would burst. Ignoring the people who clamored for her attention, she pushed past them, throwing the door open to her room. Though the sight of it's empty, lonely bed saddened her, more than she cared to admit, she pushed past it and practically tore apart her room, digging through drawers and boxes.

However, no matter how hard she looked, she could not find it.

Breathing heavy, her mind racing, she stood in the middle of the room with trembling legs, her hands gripping her hair as she struggled to control her panic.

No, no, no.

Her one link.

Where could it have gone?

But then, it came to her in a flash, and she was suddenly lost, in the bittersweet memory of the past. In a daze, she wondered over to the wall, near the fireplace. Settling down on her knees, she lifted the thick, heavy carpet up from it's corner, the woolly tassel brushing against her fingers. A loose piece of wood, just as she remembered, lay perfectly in place. With shaking fingers, she lifted it up, and dug through the loose debris and rubble until her fingers met with something hard and wooden. She pulled it out with bated breath, and twisted the lid off.

With a sigh if relief, Clary saw it was still there and drew it triumphantly from it's place, holding it above her head like a beacon of light.

It was the size of her hand, slightly heavy and glass split through it in three different ways. It was golden, a pleasant color with embedded jewels and symbols dotted around the edges. It was an oval shape, with hard edges and a handle. "Ah, you beauty!" She cheered, gripping it more tightly in her hand.

Suddenly, Alec appeared in the doorway, looking tanned from his trip to Magnus's, breathless as he stared at her in suprise. "Koningin?" He said unsurely.

"Alec. Prepare my horse. We need to leave as soon as possible," she said to him.

"What? Why?"

"There's no time to explain!" Clary snapped, getting to her feet. "Just tell Simon to prepare my horse immediately! And find Maiea, she lives near the castle. And Jordaan too, he's coming back from scouting."

"Yes, o-of course." Alec looked startled by the sudden aggression in her voice, but left to carry out her orders. Clary quickly wrapped her travelling cloak around her shoulders, carefully putting her gift into her pocket as she once more looked behind to her room, her breathing slowed.

This was her husband's room as well, and he might never see it against.

She turned, shaking her head. Everyone else needed her now, more than ever. And she could not fail them.

* * *

The horses neighed and whinnied as they galloped along the flat plains of the Idrisian countryside, their manes billowing behind them as they raced, their heavy hooves thudding along the ground. Clary, riding Callisto, was at the front of the herd, cloak flowing behind her. Alec, Maiea (who rode with Jordaan, arms clutched around his waist as she hid behind his back), Lucian and six other guards followed as Clary glanced up at the sun, which was steadily rising in a pace Clary was desperate to match.

"Hurry!" She called back to them, urging Callisto to go faster. "We have to beat that sun." This promoted them to speed up, the thudding on the ground growing louder and louder in Clary's ears.

And just as they came up over a hill, Clary gasped. "There!" She yelled, skidding to a halt as the others followed suit. "Just there." The highest mountain in Idris. She stirred Callisto, who tossed her magnificent head back, and once again they began their journey up the hill.

The Idrisian countryside was really beautiful, she thought dimly. Flowing galleys, tall trees and lush green grass that grew on every part of the ground; the sky was bright and blue and clear of any clouds. The sun gave light to the dark green leaves of the tall tree trunks, which stood rich and proud in the morning sun in beautiful blend of colors. Clary, a little dazed, took in the beauty of it all as Callisto cantered up the uneven path that was cobbled loose stones and tree roots that erypted from the stray ground and threatened to trip unwary travellers.

They were nearly there...Clary's breathing grew heavy and labored...just a stone's throw away...she could almost see the top of it...

It was the view she saw first, the brilliant yet simple charm of the wilderness that she doubted many had even seen. The breeze was cool and pleasant; it chased the sweat from her drenched collar and shifted the hair from her face. Lush gullies and shifting fields of flowers flooded her vision; a glistening lake, which seemed to be made from clear-cut diamonds, snaked across the thick brush of land. Small hilltops brushed through the landscape, adding flair and beauty to the wild belly of the place.

It was then that thew rest arrived, jumping from their horses; it did not go unnoticed that Jordaan quickly dismounted and eagerly helped a blushing Maiea off, who hid behind her mass of curly hair when she caught Clary's eye. Their shadows grew larger as they walked up to her, leading their horses towards Callisto as they too looked at awe at the raw wilderness, the wild beauty of it all. Clary looked their way, smiling, but it soon dropped as she frowned, dropping to her knees.

The sun! Clary cursed herself for her silly forgetfulness, and threw her satchel bag to the ground, hastily opening the flap with shaking hands; her fingers dug around, eagerly searching for the object.

The others watched her in confusion; Alec, looking wary, approached her in the way that made her feel like an wounded animal in a cage. "Koningin?" He said in a soft voice, hands out. "Are...are you alright?"

She looked up at him for a split second and saw the alarm in his face.

Did he think she was crazy? Did the rest of them too?

She admitted, she had thought it as well, what with her strange, odd behavior, but the truth was, she had never felt more sane in her entire life. "Yes!" She snapped, glaring at him as she rooted through her bag; her hand latched onto something cold and metallic and she grinned triumphantly as she pulled it out. It glinted in the sun, beautiful in the palm of her hand.

Maiea, who had to step around Jordaan to see it, gasped as she saw it; Jordaan too seemed to recognize as he stared at it. They moved forward to admire it and breathed out in awe as it glimmered softly, like a jewel from a pirate ship. The others just stared at it, eyes wide, as Clary yanked it high into the air just as the sun inched forward into the highest point of the sky, held in her palm, pointed upwards.

For a second, perhaps one of the longest in her life, nothing happened and Clary's heart dropped in her chest. She cursed her own ignorance, and her blatant stupidity; why did she trust a man who had lied and stolen from her?

Gritting her teeth in anger, she reluctantly lowered the golden object in her hand, feeling disappointment settle in her chest. What a waste, she thought furiously. When she could have been planning strategies, attempting to try and find allies, gathering ranks and a million other things that had to be done. As well as hundreds of people who demanded her attention almost constantly.

However, it was then that a bright glimmer of light caught her eye and she looked back, something warm growing throughout her body. Light filtered through the slates of glass, the object seemingly glowing in her palm as it trembled slightly in her grip.

And then, with a screech, a blast of white light burst from the opening of the object and shot into the sky, far off into the distance until the ground swallowed it up.

Clary watched it in awe, the heaviness in her arm all but forgotten as her gaze followed it, the overwhelming shot of angry, screaming bright sparks trailed down a path, off into the far sky until she could no longer make it out.

And it then ended, the light fizzling as it died out like the last snub of a candle.

No one spoke; silence encompassed them all.

Until-

"W-what was that?" Alec asked in a strained voice, looking shocked at he stared at the object, which again looked entirely unremarkable as it lay in Clary's hand; she brought it down with reluctance as she let out a shaky breath, blinking the spots from her eyes.

"A beacon," she answered in a calm voice, which did it's best to hide her own internal panicking. The others looked to her as she stared down at it. "Hopefully," she said, regaining her voice. "It will be answered. Until then, we wait."

"For how long?" Alec asked as he sat down, rubbing his stubbly face.

Clary considered this for a second. "We'll wait until night. If it's not answered by then, we'll leave." The rest nodded, settling down as they began to murmur amongst themselves. Clary turned to Maiea and Jordaan, who stood close together as his hand brushed her's. "Maiea, Jordaan," she said; the two jumped, both going red as Clary raised her eyebrows at them. "Go gather some berries and food. We might be here for a while. There's a patch at the bottom of the hill." They looked embarrassed, but quickly hurried off as Clary managed a fond smile.

She went to go sit down with Alec, who sat stumped, cross-legged as he sharpened his sword, his pale face determined. "What was that thing?" He asked her in a quiet voice as the other guards tended to the horses, feeding them grain as they brushed out their manes.

She took it out from her pocket; he took it gingerly from her, tracing it with his finger. "A man came into Idris once, and stole something. I pardoned him, and so he gave me this in exchange," she explained in a low voice.

"And what are you expecting from this?"

Clary took it back from him and shoved it back into her pocket. "An army."

The time went depressingly slow; Clary, so bored, she counted the stones at her feet and made a chain from a patch of flowers, which she then placed on Maiea's head, who thanked her with her usual quiet grace. They ate fresh berries that Maiea had picked and a wild goat Jordaan had killed and skinned in silence; it soon grew dark, and Clary looked desperately at the distance, for anything at all.

However, night came too quickly and Clary run out of excuses to stall; with a heavy heart, she packed her things and ordered the others to do the same. She shouldered her things, mounted Callisto and looked back once despairingly into the distance, praying for a miracle.

But none came.

So, she turned, disappointment heavy in her heart.

"Koningin!" Maiea gasped as her face lit up, quite literally as Clary quickly turned Callisto around and was bathed in yellow light, her breath coming out in a strangled gasp.

There was indeed an army.

Thousands of men, dressed in armor, carrying torches as they marched through the wilderness, chanting in another tongue as they approached the highest mountain in Idris. "Quickly!" Clary hissed at the others, as she spurred Callisto down the hill, heart pounding in her heart. Callisto huffed in protest, but galloped down the path, her thudding hooves matching the tempo of her heart.

The army was rapidly approaching; Clary neared them as she urged Callisto to go faster, feeling jittery.

An army to match Alicante's was her's, as promised.

It was then that the army suddenly stopped, halting as Clary was about to approach them. She stalled Callisto, who abruptly reared her head, whinnying in annoyance. It was intimating, she had to admit, to be surrounded by these massive men who wore amour that covered their faces and swords that gleamed terrifyingly in the light of their torches.

They stared at each other, until Clary gathered her steel and dismounted from her horse, unafraid.

"Koningin! Don't!" Alec's voice rang out in a warning but she didn't look behind as she walked towards them, head held high until she was merely just a few meters from them. Their heavy breathing and the flicker of their torches was all that could be heard.

Until their spears began to bump against the ground; yet Clary still stood, unafraid with her jaw squared. They parted until a path was made and a man, wearing a mask made from the skull of a beast, came forward on horseback. And still, Clary did not move, despite everyone's protests. The horse clicked and clacked as his hooves banged against the ground.

The man reached her and for a second, sat still on his horse, before dismounting. He walked towards her, menacing with his skull mask, modified to fit his head. He wasn't particularly big, or muscular, but the way he walked commanded attention and authority. He reached her and Clary found that he was only a little bit taller than her.

Silence, on both sides.

His hands reached for his mask, removing it from his head as he shook free. Clary resisted the urge to smile as her predictions were true. It was the same man who had entered her kingdom and stolen from her. His eyes, one milky blue and the other dark brown, looked down at her; his bushy brown beard was shaved away and his slick hair was pinned back into a braided ponytail.

He smiled at her as he tucked his mask under his arm. "Your Grace," he said in perfect English, surprising her.

"You speak the Common Tongue?" She said with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course, Your Grace. But I prefer my native tongue, you understand." His eyes moved over her and to Maiea, who blushed a pretty pink. "And of course I remember this beauty," he smiled charmingly at her; Maiea looked down in embarrassment while Jordaan glowered at him.

"This is the army that was promised to me," Clary confirmed, gesturing to the thousands of men who stood in silence, watching their exchange.

"Certainly. I am a man of my word, and I certainly do intend to keep good on my promise, as you did spare my life," he said in a low voice.

"Good." Clary smiled at him, but it didn't feel particularity friendly. "We have a long trip back to Idris. Prepare your men for the journey."

He bowed, his head low. "Certainly. For a beautiful queen such as yourself, how could I say no?"

Clary barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, yes. Now, I still need your name since you never told me what it was. What do they call you?" She asked him as he positioned his mask back onto his head. The army shifted amongst themselves, muttering as they stirred with unease.

"Raphael, Your Grace. Of the Waylands."

* * *

 **Oh snap! It's Raphael! Not in his orginal form, of course, but everyone in this story is a little tweaked!** **Did you like? So many of you predicted this, even though it was pretty obvious! (No subtly at all, seriously.)**

 **Also, it explains the whole Magnus thing and goes over it in more detail as well.**

 **Please review! I might update again this week.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	38. Chapter 38 (The Path To War)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 38. The Path To War**

 **Hi guys! Here's a chapter because I love all of you so much! Thank you for your reviews! Anyways, not much to say, sorry for the long wait but I'm super busy with homework and such.**

 **Here's your chapter!**

* * *

 **Chapter 38.**

 **-Clary-**

"No, the forest path is far too risky. Jonathon would expect that; he'd have men hiding in every treetop, archers in every crook of the maintains that line the ravine, ready to shoot the moment they see an Idrisian," Clary argued, her finger trailing a path from Alicante to Idris. "However, the Pia Canal is a perfect opening. It's seclusive and hidden and we can easily smuggle eight hundred men at a time. Best of all, it leads straight through to a cliff route that goes directly to Alicante. It's perfect." Clary, Raphael, and ten others gathered in the war conference room, all huddled around a table, strewn with scribbled maps and half-haphazardly written documents.

It had been a few days since the mountain, since Clary had claimed Raphael's army and side-by-side, they had marched back together to Idris. It had been quite a shock for the Idrisian people to see such men walking through their territory, but is seemed to calm them with Clary walking at the helm, mounted upon Callisto with Raphael following her.

Ever since the capture of the Koning, the people of Idris had become skittish, nervous even, men and women looking over their shoulders in fear.

A kingdom without it's king? Weakened, even a country as strong as Idris was.

However, Clary's firm stance and determined attitude helped in part (she hoped). She had kept her policies strict to quell any rebellions or uprisings, quickly separated the ill from the healthy when a strange sickness had broken out and kept morale up with any means necessary. She supposed her policies were slightly harsh, but she had to keep her grip on power firm.

Though she missed Jace more than anything and yearned for him, yearned for his touch, his smile, any sign of his love, she had to be strong.

 _The Idrisians respected strength above all else._

"Koningin, if I may," Alec, dressed in black leather with his war charms jingling on his wrists, said after a moment of silent, mouth creased into a frown. "The Pia Canal is crawling with pirates, scavengers and rangers." Clary shuddered at the horrible memory but brushed it off with narrowed eyes. "Yes, the Alicanteans will not see us coming, but we may lose more men than we can afford."

Raphael grinned, a dark, gleaming smile that chilled Clary to the bone. "Ah, but you forget, the Idrisians hold a mighty reputation in the East, even amongst pirates. Who would dare attack the barbarians of Idris? Wage war on beasts who claim with men?" He said in his usual raspy voice, dainty fingers playing up and down the slit in his skull mask that usually hung under his arm.

Hushed murmurs and whispers followed as Clary's fellow Idrisians eyed the foreigner in suspicion. Following the unification of the two armies, the Ravangers (as they were called) had occupied Idrisian land, where they huddled in their camps despite Clary's offer for warm homes and warmer beds. Even Raphael, an important figurehead in his army, huddled in the quickening cold of a punishing autumn in the heat of the fire. Clary understood the fear of the massive army, their fires splaying across the unoccupied meadows of Idrisian land.

The warriors were terrifying, with their massive helmets from which spikes and horns and other devilish things sprouted. Their weapons were strange, foreign, swords that boasted three blades, curved knives that were thrown at devastating speeds.

However, Clary was less inclined to the comfort of her people; she was far more interested in the protection and safety of them.

Lucian, Maiea and Jordaan, all silent, were also attending; Lucian, still new and resented by the others for his strangeness, said nothing and Maiea, as shy and quiet as ever (but Clary suspected her strength) made no noise and bowed her head instead. Jordaan, big, grumpy but sweet, didn't have much to contribute as he was blindly loyal as her _soldaat._

Clary gestured at Lucian, slightly irritated. She hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in the past couple of weeks; her strings were being pulled apart and snapped and she was at the end of her tether. "Well, Lucian? What do you have to say?" She asked him as his bushy eyebrows hovered low over warm blue eyes.

Lucian, his hands held up in a mock show of surrender, bowed his head. "I take no part in this, Koningin. I was a knight, not a strategist. But even I am inclined to agree with Raphael, that the Idrisian reputation is fearsome," he said in a begrudging, almost admiring tone.

Raphael, looked pleased, took a small bow.

"And what about you, Maiea?" Clary asked in a slightly more gentle voice; the dark-haired girl looked up, shocked at her name being spoken.

All eyes turned to her; Maiea blushed, her cheeks burning red as she cleared her throat. Maiea, Clary thought, would never make her mad. With her soft-spoken demeanor and gentle tone, she was almost like a spooked kitten, too small and too innocent for the world she lived in. "I-I don't know, Koningin. I am no master strategist, after all," she squeaked, hands clasped in an attempt to reason with her nerves.

Clary smiled encouragingly at her, looking as kindly as she could possibly manage with fierce eyeliner and her cheeks striped with blood. "You're one of my trusted advisers, Maiea. Of course I value your opinions."

Maiea looked down, a small smile gracing her face. "Thank you, Koningin." Her hands unclasped, settling at the side of her slim hips. "I-I think neither the canal nor the forest path is a good option."

Shocked faces, silent whispers.

Clary leaned forward, intrigued. "Really? Do you have another idea?" Clary, now desperate for any means to enter Alicante, was open to any possibility.

"Yes, My Koningin. I-I believe," she glanced around, wary of the unfamiliar faces that stared her down, "that the Delapi Forest is the best option."

Absolute silence.

Then, those silent whispers lay watse to the room and raised voices surronded Clary as each protested the idea. Clary grimacecd at the noise; her hand raised for silence, her teeth gritted as the others soon fell silent. "The Delapi Forest?" Clary mused, eyebrows creased in thought. "Hmm..."

Maiea nodded, looking frightened.

One Idrisian soldier, a young, broadened youth with a impressive height and braided hair, not yet weathered by war, stepped forward, eyes blazing in protest. "Koningin, please! Not the Delapi Forest! Our ancestors would scorn us if they knew!" He begged in a thick, Idrisian accent as other stepped forward, mouthing their own objections as Clary only half-listened, deep in thought.

The Delapi Forest...

Of course, Clary understood the warrior's superstitions. Idrisian people, especially the soldiers, were some of the most superstitious group of people Clary had met before; they never celebrated occasions on the third Sunday of a month, never swore on sacred ground, tapped their wrists for good luck near a burial ground. But asking anyone even distantly related to an Idrisian to even near the Delapi Forest? Perhaps, when the angels came down and dined with the humans and shed their envious wings.

The Delapi Forest, as Jace and Helen had told her, was the supposed resting place of demons and evil gods that had been cast away from the holy heaven of the God's Resting Chambers. The Idrisians were deathly afraid of it, and refused to go anywhere near it. Apparently, all sorts of strange and wicked creatures lived there, ghouls and ghosts and spirits who would lure small children and virgins to the forest and devour their souls and use their blood to poison the streams that led to Idris. According to Jace, parents would scare their children into telling them they would leave them at the Delapi Forest for the demon wolves would eat them misbehaved. Even the Alicanteans were afraid of the forest, and avoided it at all costs. She had seen Jonathon, strong, invincible Jonathon, spur his horse away from the area in fear of the place.

Clary slowly rose to her feet, eyes trained on Maiea; the others fell silent at a quick, sharp look from Clary. "Why do you say the Delapi Forest, Maiea?" She asked the young girl, who's cheeks coloured once again under all the gazes in the room.

Maiea hesitataed, before answering, her eyes lowered. "W-well, Koningin, it's a clear route, straight into the Alicante brush, where we would be well-hidden in the shrubbery. And since it's always deserted, there's no opportunity for an ambush or an unexpected attack," she stuttered in a soft voice, her arms wrapped around herself; Jordaan muttered something comforting to her and she smiled at him gratefully.

Raphael smirked at the younger girl, winking at Maiea with unabashed teasing. "A smart, pretty girl like you. Why hasn't someone snatched you up yet?" He said with a chuckle; at this, Maiea ducked under her head and Jordaan moved closer to her, scowling at the man.

Clary smiled fondly at Maiea (but not before scowling at Raphael) and patted her arm encouringly. "Very good, Maiea. You're much smarter than you let on, you know," she said to her; Maiea beamed at this, brushing her hair away from her face.

"Thank you, Koningin." There was pride, gleaming deep in her pretty eyes as she stood up a little straighter, her shoulders thrust backward.

The same young warrior as before shook his head, looking terrified as he neighed like an upset horse. "Koningin, please, hear me! The Delapi Forest," -he shuddered momentaitlity, looking distraught- "is a cursed place, where the demons roam!" He howled in protest, his hands thrown up in distress.

"But it would be the fastest route to Alicante?" Clary asked the room at large; already, the Idrisians looked terrified, their complaints getting louder and louder as their whispers grew louder between them.

Both Lucian, Raphael and Alec looked over the map and nodded in agreement.

"Brother Alec?" Clary asked her second, who jumped up at the mention of his name. "What do you think?"

Alec looked hesitant before answering, hands running through his hair. "I-I don't know. Honestly, it does seem like the quickest path to Alicante, but if no one will march…" he trailed off, shaking his head. "No one dares go near the cursed forest."

"Trust me, " Clary said grimly, tracing the tip of her dagger. "They will march."

No one argued with her, but the young soldier seemed angry as he muttered under his breath.

"We've already lost hundreds of our own people. Can we honestly afford to lose anymore? And yes, the Delapi Forest may be cursed but I believe the gods favor me. Favor all of us. Blood will have blood. My blood took from me, the love of my life, and now, in return, I will have my revenge. But will you," she turned to the youngest, who seemed wary of her temper, "have your's? For the countless slaughters Alicante have done us, will we allow justice to go undone? Will we bleed for nothing? Will we allow such men to take our king, steal our lives, slaughter our men?" None responded to her as she persisted, forcing their eyes to meet her own. "Will you follow me? Clarissa Morgenstern of Idris, Last Daughter of the Fair folk?"

Clary looked to all of them, who's eyes were trained on only her.

Silence.

But then-

Alec stood, gathered at his feet. His arm crossed across his chest, head bowed. "Bloed sal bloed hê," he murmured softly; Clary smiled at him, something warm glowing in her chest.

(Blood will have blood.)

Maiea followed suit, her hand crossed across her chest as she grinned toothily at her friend. "Bloed sal bloed hê," she declared as Jordaan soon rose to his feet.

"Bloed sal bloed hê," Jordaan said proudly and Clary nodded at him as Maiea beamed at his gesture.

The others, half-hesitantly with reluctance woven through each action, rose to their feet and copied the action, muttering the same words. Raphael shrugged his shoulders, rising from his slouched position and getting to his feet. "The gods always did promise me a death worthy of a king," he bragged, blue eye twinkling while the brown one winked. "Maybe this will be my chance."

"So your army will follow me?" Clary asked him hopefully.

He nodded, grinning, revealing a sliver of a gold tooth crammed in the back of his mouth. "If I tell them to, then yes. And the Ravagers are not scared of a little forest. We will march." This action (as well as the promise of a huge army, bred for war) encouraged more as pretty soon, everyone was on their feet, heads bowed, left arm crossed firmly across their chest. Now only remained the Idrisian youth who had spoken so boldly.

Clary looked at him and he her, their eyes meeting. "Sometimes, you have to be stronger than your fears," she said quietly as he sighed out loud.

He rose to his feet, however begrudgingly, his hand crossed over his chest as he bowed his head. "Bloed sal bloed hê," he murmured and Clary smiled, knowing her victory, all that would would someday be her's once again.

"Good."

* * *

An entire field of warriors, dressed in the armour of animal skulls, stood at the waiting, standing impeccably straight, spears at the ready. Clary walked amongst them, unafraid as she inspected the men, staring, stone-hearted, into their unflinching eyes. Lykaios, now returned from a week-long hunt, prowled close to them. Usually hostile towards strangers, Clary had been surprised when her wolf warmed up to Raphael quickly. After padding over to Clary's side, sniffing at the newcomer and growling in a warning, he liccked Raphael's outstreched hand and then trotted away.

It had taken him thrice as long to be even comfortable with Lucian being in the same proximity as Clary, usually snorting and huffing if the older, grey-haired man neared her.

Raphael followed after her, footsteps easy with his usual swagger as he boasted of his army, telling such tales of their grandeur and triumphs that Clary began to suspect they weren't even true. "Hmm…" Clary murmured, arms crossed across her breasts as she leered up at a particularly tall soldier, who stared straight ahead, expression bordering on weary.

"So?" Raphael, grinning as he sidled up to her, his skull armour nestled under his arm. "Is it as I promised? An army worthy of the gods?"

Clary turned to him, eyebrow raised. "Worthy of the gods? Did you make such a promise?" She said to him, lightly teasing the stranger, who's chest swelled at the insult.

"What? You are not impressed?" Raphael huffed, looking annoyed as if Clary had personally offended him. Lucian and Alec, along with a glowering Jordaan (who had taken an instant dislike to the man which Clary suspected had to do with a small, dark-haired girl), watched Clary closely, their weapons sheathed but their hands rested on their belts. Wary, ever so cautious, they watched the two walk around the men, especially Clary.

"Impressed?" Clary mocked him as she shook her head and sighed.

"What?" He demanded once more, looking affronted. "The finest warriors in the Kingdoms of the East, and you scoff at them?"

Clary, scowling at his brazen words, opened her mouth to retaliate with a smirk but-

"Clarissa Morgenstern!" A roar steered her attention far from the man in front of her; Clary's head snapped towards to the intrusion, her smile falling from her face.

A group of men, seasoned warriors that she vaguely recognized, marched toward her in a gathering of about a dozen. Dressed for war, they held spears and swords and bows that glinted in the late evening sun of an early winter. Alec, Lucian and Jordaan were immediately at her side, their weapons drawn as even Raphael, always so seemingly collected and calm, stood up straighter, his hand warily at his sheathed sword. Ears perked up, Lykaios bounded towards Clary, his back legs bent ever so slightly as he bared his teeth. Clary, with a pounding hand and sweating palms, reached for her own dagger, her hand unconsciously going to the swell of her stomach, protecting the life inside her.

The group approached her and at the head was one of Jace's generals, a tall, slender man with a cruel glint and three missing teeth that had apparently been knocked out in a bloody fight with an Alicantean soldier. Hasip, he was called, his father's father's name. Clary held out her other arm, forcing the others back.

Alec looked at her in alarm, his swords shielding Clary. "Koningin-" he started.

"No." Clary shook her head. "No, Alec. Allow them to approach." She turned to the others, who looked to her. "All of you." With utmost reluctance, they withdrew, but still clutched their weapons tightly in their hands. "Hasip," Clary called as the older man approached her, the group of men warily but determinedly clinging close to his side. "Watter besigheid het jy by my?" She asked him in Idrisian; Clary found the warrior were far more obedient and comfortable when conversing with her in their native tongue.

 _(What business do you have with me?)_

He stopped in front of her, scowling as he stared her down but Clary met his gaze with just as much ferocity. "Die seun sê vir my jy beplan om die roete deur die Delapi-woud te neem," he hissed, spittle flying from his mouth in a rage of passion.

 _(The boy tells me you plan on taking the route through the Delapi Forest.)_

Craning her neck, Clary spotted the young warrior from before, who hid behind the group of men; he ducked his head, cheeks spotted red with shame as Clary glowered at him from afar.

Her teeth clenched, Clary tried to appear as gracious as possible, her hands clasped in front og her. "Ja, alhoewel die inligting nie tot môre gedeel moes word nie," Clary said, shooting another poisonous look at the boy, who stared down at his feet, his ears bright red. "

 _(Yes, though the information wasn't supposed to be shared until tomorrow.)_

"Niemand sal deur die vervloekte bos optree nie!" He said in an outraged voice; at this, Lykaios bared his fierce teeth, moving in front of Clary. "Hoe durf jy selfs suggereer dat ons voet op so 'n onheilige plek betree! Ons gode sal op jou voete spuug!"

 _(No one will march through the cursed forest!) (How dare you even suggest that we step foot in such an unholy place! Our gods would spit on your feet!)_

Everyone held their breath, looking to Clary who had gone still. No one dared breathed as Clary tilted her head to the side, her hand falling to her side. "Is jy 'n kind, bang vir 'n bedtydverhaal? Of is jy 'n man, Hasip, die seun van Hara?" She said in a quiet voice, her words venomous; even Lykaios winced at her tone, shaking his head.

 _(Are you a child, afraid of a bedtime story? Or a you a man, Hasip, son of Harah?)_

A crowd had begin to gather, watching the confrontation between the two; a Queen and her soldier. The word, cursed and spit at as it was, was whispered and murmured throughout the crowd with a sheer hatred Clary had never heard before, not even for Alicante.

 _Delapi._

Hasip scowled at that, flushing pink as he cleared his throat. "Ek is nie 'n kind nie, meisie. Ek is 'n gesoute generaal en het die koning en sy pa pligsgetrou gedien vir die grootste deel van my lewe," he sneered, chest swelling with pride; more mutters ensured and the buzzing noise of their whispers grew.

 _(I am no child, girl. I am a seasoned general and have served the King and his father dutifully for most of my life.)_

"En nou dien jy my, jou regmatige koningin," Clary scowled at him, hands on her hips.

 _(And now you serve me, your rightful queen.)_

Hasip scoffed, throwing his head back. "My? Ek het die koning gedien. Ek sal nie 'n vreemdeling dien nie, wie se broer ons almal bedreig. Ek dien nie 'n klein, dwaas meisie wat niks weet van wat sy doen nie."

 _(Me? I served the King. I will not serve a foreigner, whose brother threatens us all. I do not serve a little, foolish girl who knows nothing about what she does.)_

He turned back to the crowd, his arms thrown up in the air. "Sal ons toelaat dat ons deur sommige vreemde meisies gedikteer word wat niks van ons, van ons gode, van ons kultuur ken nie?" He roared at them, pounding at his chest as more people gathered, the buzzing noise growing louder. "Moet dit nie die vertroude generaal van die Koning wees wat jou moet lei tot die stryd nie? Nie sy betaalde hoer nie? Ek, wie het hierdie koninkryk en sy mense so lojaal gedien?"

 _(Will we allow ourselves to be dictated by a foreign girl who knows nothing about us, of our gods, of our culture?) (Should it not be the trusted general of the King who should lead you to battle? Not his paid whore? Me, who has served this kingdom and its people so loyally?)_

No one answered this, but the group of men who were loyal to Hasip shouted in agreement, banging their spears against the ground.

Clary stepped forward, fingering the hilt of her dagger. "Is dit werklik hoe jy voel?" She asked quietly, eyes fixed on Hasip.

 _(Is this truly how you feel?)_

Hasip bowed his head. "Maak nie saak wie jy trou nie, jy sal nooit een van ons wees nie."

 _(No matter who you marry, you'll never be one of us.)_

Alec sucked in a sharp breath, looking nervous as he eyed Clary. But she simply shrugged, her hands going behind her back. "Baie goed. Net soos jy wil," she smiled sweetly at him, baring her teeth.

 _(Very well. Have it your way.)_

It all happened very quickly then; time was fluid and it jarred and jutted to a stop as Clary turned, her wrist flicking toward Alec, who nodded, drawing his dagger from his sheath. Hasip had turned back to the crowd, his arms raised in the air as he praised the gods for his good fortune. The crowd remained silent, looking at Clary in disbelief, horror written on their faces.

Time slowed and Clary grinned, feeling something dark and heavy grow in her black heart.

Alec poised his sword, and flung it, hard and true across the air; it spun, and struck Hasip in the back. He let out a terrible, horrible wail as he fell to his knees, the tip of Alec's sword protruding from his chest. Blood, rich and dark, spurted from his wound as he gasped, sputtering.

No one said a word and watched instead, eyes wide as they clutched to each other.

Clary watched in vicious satisfaction as he finally let out one last gasp, and collapsed to the ground, sword still buried in his body. She slowly turned to the crowd, who backed away from her.

The army, silent behind her, stood strong and firm, their swords still pointed at the now-dead Hasip.

And-

The warriors fell to one knee, swords pointed at the ground. One by one, they fell, until all were on their knees.

And then the Idrisians followed, each reluctantly, with great hesitation, dropping to their knees, the rebels the first to go as they backed away from the dead body. The young boy scrambled to his knees, bowing frantically until his arms grew heavy.

Clary looked around, her chin held up high. "Ons môre met môre, met die Ravager se weermag, opmars. Enigeen wat voorwerpe het, sal in die kerkers gegooi word. Berei nou voor vir oorlog. Lig die brande, bel die mans om te veg. Watookal dit vat," she said in a flat voice, her tone harsh as she turned away, her advisers and warriors scrambling after her.

 _(We march tomorrow with the Ravager army. Anyone who has objects will be thrown into the dungeons. Now, prepare for the fires, call the men to battle. Whatever it takes.)_

Alec stared at her in shock, looking...scared.

But this was war.

She couldn't allow her chance at rescuing her husband to go wrong. She couldn't allow it. Not while she had a chance, no matter how slim, in heaven to rescue her beloved.

And she would burn the world down if it meant she would pull out her husband from the ashes.

* * *

 **Clary had to reassert her dominance because of the various rebellions and such.**

 **I think this helped.**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	39. Chapter 39 (The Lineage Of The Fairchil)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 39. The Lineage Of The Fairchilds**

 **Hi guys! I love you all, so here is another chapter! Here's a little Clace for you all! Thank you for your reviews, I loved them all. I cant believe we're here...**

 **Please read and review! I worked super-hard on this!**

 **Hope you like it!**

* * *

 **Chapter 39.**

 **-Clary-**

The Delphi Forest looked even more terrifying at night; the horses were skittish, fearful of the gloomy forest. The soldiers were even more so, glancing around them as they walked through the forest. No one, not even the usually bumbling Lucian, dared to breathe a word; the eerie, unsettling atmosphere of the forest made every nerve in Clary's body tingle and goosebumps sprung from every square inch of her skin. This forest, it wasn't just strange or disorienting; it was completely silent, far too unnatural for anything to live amongst the shrubbery. There was no trickle of a nearby stream, no scamper of rabbits, no rustle of the sycamore leaves.

It chilled Clary to her bones and unknowingly, she drew her travelling close to herself and prayed to the gods to keep her and her loved ones safe. A silent army crept through the woods, even the hooves of their horse's silenced by the thick mud of the heavy marsh that.

Clary hated the oppressive silence and longed for a break in the endless solidarity but did not dare to disrupt the unearthly tranquility. Shuddering, she clutched Callisto's reins tighter, looking around with restless darts of her head. Alec, Lucian and Jordaan all rode next to her, tension tight in their shoulders. Soldiers clutched their swords close to them; their soundless breaths misted the air and came out in short puffs.

Still, no one spoke or protested.

They drudged on for hours; hundreds, thousands of men and women, sneaking through a silent forest like scorned children tip-toeing past their parent's bedrooms at night. Clary's fingers soon grew numb and the feelings in her hands were lost; her lips were chapped from the cold and her nose felt raw and numb. Her eyes drooped shut occasionally, and she scowled herself awake as she shook her head, undeterred.

Nothing, not even the gods themselves, would stop her now.

It was growing dark now and Clary felt close to tears. The soldiers were silent, uncomplaining, but the slow trudge of their footsteps, the slump in their backs; Clary sensed their weariness and considered a break but none seemed eager to stay still for too long in the Delphi Forest. Clary, not strangely, agreed with them and just wanted to get away from this cursed place.

This cursed, cursed place-

A snap of a twig.

The first sound in hours and hours. Clary's head, along with the thousands of other's, snapped up and swords were immediately drawn out, the sound of clinging blades making Clary's heart pound. The circle of warriors closed around her. "Protect the Queen!" Lucian yelled, his sword held high. Rumbles echoed through the forest as each soldier, out of fierce love and devotion for their queen, rose to arms to protect Clary.

The horses skittered and neighed; shouts and yells were all Clary could hear as she whirled around, searching for the threat but it was when Jordaan yelled-

"There!"

A thousand heads whipped around and a mutual feeling of shock paralyzed each and everyone of them. Swords dropped to sides and silence, once again, fell upon them again.

Clary squinted, attempting to rear in Callisto, who bucked and whinnied and neighed in frustration.

Her mouth fell open.

It was a glowing spirit.

Or, at least, that was Clary's best guest.

As her vision struggled to adjust to the strange, new light, she saw it was a shape of a young woman, a soft, glowing form that drifted several inches from the ground. It's hair, green and luminous, floated around it's shoulders, so long that it curled around it's ankles. It had endless eyes, hollowed-out caverns that radiated in the dark canvas of night, bright green light.

It looked like an...angel.

The ones in the stories that Bryta would tell her about when she was younger; beautiful, eerie beings of immense power, blessed by the gods.

No one could move as it advanced slowly towards it, not moving a muscle as it's toes dragged along the ground. It stopped, just a stone's throw away from the nearest soldier (who quickly scrambled away and hid behind a tree) and looked slowly to Clary and gestured at her. Lucian, Jordaan and Alec immediately reacted, spurred into action by a perceived threat as the warriors reanimated, calling for death. "Wait!" Clary cried out, her arm held up in a show of surrender. "Do not attack!"

Alec shot her furious look. "Koningin-!" He proclaimed his frustration, letting out an angry sigh. Clary just shook her head at him, ordering her men to stand down. They looked at her incredulously, before heeding her order and stepped aside, however reluctantly.

Time slowed for a second, and Clary sucked in a slow, shuddering breath, her fingernails digging harshly into the palms of her hands.

Have courage, as a Fairchild.

Be strong, as a Morgenstern.

Be brave, she told herself. For her father. For her mother. For her beloved, the man she loved more than anyone in the world. For her precious, unborn son, who beat so strongly in her womb.

She urged Callisto forward, her teeth gritted, her jaw set, her eyes set on the glowing spirit. Though her horse seemed scared, she heeded Clary's request and trotted forward, moving towards it. The spirit, nymph, demon, ghoul, whatever it was, watched her with it's glowing eyes. She made certain to stop Callisto far from it; it made no movement, and simply watched her with unfeeling, cold eyes.

It did nothing.

Then-

"Clarissa Morgenstern, Last Daughter of the Fair Folk." Words, ethereal and hollow, like the ring of a sharp, filled Clary's ears. Yet, the mouth of the creature did not move and it continued to watch her with dead eyes. It's toes barely touched the ground, just brushing the dewy tips of the grass as it floated above the ground in an angel-like fashion.

Clary stared at it in surprise, her mouth falling open. "How-how do you know who I am?" Clary asked in a breathless voice, dismounting from her horse slowly, cautiously, making sure to not aggravate or disturb it.

"The river nymphs have long been associated been with the blood of the Fairchilds. As the last living Daughter of the First Folk, you are all that remains of the long but ancient line of warriors, kings, queens and sorcerers." It's mouth still did not move yet the voice in Clary's head was as clear as the break in early day. "You are all there is. You and your son, of course." Clary's hand unconsciously drifted to her stomach, stroking it. "We have been involved with you and your brother since the death of your mother."

Clary frowned at the river nymph. "We?" She questioned. The nymph bowed her head forward, hands clasped together. There were low gasps of shock and murmurings as more nymphs, glowing, beautiful, ethereal beings that flew, slowly and in such a manner of threatening grace, into the clearing.

"Yes. We, the river nymphs, are eager to protect our bloodline and heritage."

"I-I'm afraid I don't understand. Heritage?"

The nymph, much to Clary's horror, smiled at her in such a way that made chills claw their way down Clary's spine. "You do not know, Clarissa Morgenstern? Your father did not tell you who you are? Who your ancestors were?"

Clary didn't reply, but instead just stared at the nymph.

"The Fairchilds are known as the Fair Folk because of their mingling with nymphs and elves. We birthed a great number of warriors and noble peoples that formed many of the great nations today," the nymph replied; some semblance of emotion glowed in her hollow eyes. "We tamed Pegasus, sprites, all manner of musical creatures; it runs not just in our blood, but in your's."

"And what does that have to do with this?" She asked, feeling braver as she drew up to her full height.

The nymph glowed slightly brighter. "This forest is sacred ground, Clarissa. By intruding this area, we had grounds to kill you immediately. But, as the final child of our dying line and the hope for the restoration of the Fair Folk lineage, we refrained. But we cannot allow you to pass any further."

Clary stared at the woman in anger. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, we cannot risk the deaths of the future Fairchilds. Your son," the nymph gestured towards her stomach, "and any other children you have will continue the line. We know of this battle you seek and cannot allow this."

"Excuse me?" Clary asked, clearly affronted. "Why not my brother? He is of Fairchild blood, and could produce many heirs."

"You did not know, Clarissa Morgenstern?" The nymph looked surprised. "Your brother is impotent and cannot give any children to any woman. And is it not your intention to kill him?" Clary did not respond but frowned deeply instead; a million questions about Jonathon's impotence prodded her thoughts but she pushed them away for later. "However, there is one way you could be allowed to continue on your journey."

"How?" Clary was growing desperate; every second she wasted was every moment Jace grew closer to his death. "I'll do anything."

The nymph considered this. "Are you willing to risk your life, and your son's?" There was no feeling on her face, nothing that gave anything away.

"No one will ever hurt my son," Clary scowled, echoing her words from before. The nymph observed her for a few seconds, before raising her hand; a loud, shrilling noise pierced the air and Clary winced, covering her ears. The branches and leaves shifted, moving over each other as they twisted and shuffled under the other as it was moved to reveal the gaping hole of a cave.

The nymph turned back to Clary. "If you are truly a Fairchild, then you must pass this test and prove your lineage. But be warned, better men and women and tried and failed at this. Only then will you be allowed to pass through, without the wrath of the forest creatures."

Clary considered this for a long second, her heartbeat loud and strong in her chest. She turned back to her advisers, who were quick to protest as the fire in their eyes gleamed and they voiced their concerns.

"Clary!" Alec was the first to step forward. "You cannot go in there! Please don't!" The look in Clary's eyes, familiar to Alec in all regards, must have scared him. Lucian, Maiea, Jordaan, all of her generals began arguing with her but she raised her hand for silence.

"Enough, please!" She barked. "We have no other choice than to do this. Unless, of course, we want to take our chances with them." She jerked her head towards the awaiting nymphs, who gave no indication towards her. "Now, listen very carefully. Alec, I want to to lead this army. I trust you more than anything; bring him back home." Alec, determined, nodded. "Lucian, second-in-command. Jordaan, leader of my generals. Do you understand?"

"Clar-! Koningin," Alec sounded, in all his usual calm disposition, strangely desperate as he looked around wildly, silently pleading for anyone, anyone at all, to listen to reason and take his side. But no one spoke up, their heads bowed in remorse as they knew nothing could be done. "Please," his voice broke. "Don't go in there. You-you may never come out again."

Clary gripped the sides of his face, feeling remorseful. "Oh, Alec. Are you admitting you'll miss me?"

The dark-haired man that Clary had come to love stayed silent as he clenched his eyes shut, swaying gently. Clary kissed his cheek, gripping his hair as she breathed him in once more, smelling like...home.

Like her Jace.

Unexpected tears sprung to her eyes and she held him tighter as Alec, stiff and awkward, hugged her back. She drew back, sniffling slightly, before patting his arm; he cleared his throat, grunting, but Clary suspected the sheen in his eyes was more than the glare from the moon. She touched his cheek one last time, before saying, "I'm counting on you, Alec. Please, don't let me down."

He nodded, looking determined. "I wont, Koningin. I swear it."

"Good." Clary turned away from him, afraid she was going to cry if she looked at him any longer. She walked over to the entrance of the cave, taking a breath. She looked over at her friends and loved ones one last time, before turning back and taking the first step, their faces sharp in her mind as her steps grew bigger and firmer, tears burning in her eyes.

* * *

The entrance was dark, so much so that Clary struggled to make out her feet, which shifted along the ground in wary, uncertain steps. Her heart beat fiercely in her chest, so loudly that it drowned out the noise of her hitched breathing, until her ears rung with the sound of her pulse. However, it was reassuring, hearing something so strong and steady live inside her.

Did she feel fear?

Perhaps for her son, who still lived inside her. She prayed to whatever gods were listening to protect him, make him grow healthy and good and brave.

But for herself?

Clarissa Morgenstern was a Fairchild, and like her mother before her, she did not fear. But even she could not deny the all-too familiar twist in her stomach and the clench of her fists, feelings that were so closely associated with Jonathon. She knew what awaited her. She knew if she should ever allow herself to be captured by her elder brother, both she and her son would possibly never see the light of day again.

It was disturbingly warm, too quiet and eerie; Clary made certain to make no sound, disturb nothing that might live in here. Once or twice, Clary swore she saw a sliver of a bone, her feet scuffing against something heavy and hard.

The silence, the darkness that clouded her senses, was oppressive and Clary shivered, despite the sweat that lined along her forehead.

God, she hated it in here.

To give comfort to herself, her hands immediately sought her stomach and she rubbed along the swell of her belly. She felt only slightly braver as she advanced, with extreme caution, along the hallow of the cavern, squinting, only just able to make out the strange shapes that hung from the mouth of the cave.

And then-light!

Clary fumbled towards it, heart beating in anticipation as she scrambled towards, still careful to maintain a degree of caution. However, she did not know what would face her; whether it be a monster, or a demon of some kind. The nymph had warned her that though it would not hurt her physically, it would reign her in and clutch her heart so she would not leave.

More and more light poured into the opening, so bright that it might Clary's eyes sting and squint; she walked towards it, more quickly now, her hand on her dagger, ready to defeat whatever she would face.

However, as she slipped into the opening, defiant with a convincing facade of courage, she faltered in her steps as she slowed, shock paralysing her movements.

It was the site of the waterfall.

Where Jace had taken her, twice, once to ready her for the world and the second time to consummate their love.

Awed, she looked around and everything was just how she remembered. The memories of the cool autumn that reigned outside the cave disappeared and she was lost, swept up in the caress of sweet, sweet summer that she remembered so fondly. The waterfall trickled down the curved slope of the mountain, disturbing the sleeping body of water below; the wildflowers bloomed, pink, purple, red; grass grew, thick and soft, and the smell of summer filled her lungs.

But, none of that seemed to matter, none at all; the rest of the world blurred away when a man, hidden in her dreams, stepped out from the bushes and advanced towards her.

It was him.

He was here.

Clary's mind went blank and the floor shifted under the floor and she felt like throwing up.

Jace.

Beautiful, alive, breathing, and her's, only her's, in a world full of other people.

"Jace?" The words slipped from her mouth, spilling forth before she had any sense to stop them. She cursed herself; this, this evil, cruel trick that the gods insisted on, could led to some harm to her unborn some but then-

Warm, familiar eyes met her's and the world was rightened and all was right again. That familiar, heart-breaking smile that made her head spin and the air tugged from her lungs was there. That made her knees tremble and quake. A dimple in his left cheek, one that only showed in Clary's presence, appeared as it creased his skin and Clary felt faint, her head throbbing. "Cstrisi," he rumbled, his deep, soothing voice as comforting to her as Bryta's kisses, her father's arms.

She stared at him, not believing her eyes as her feet glued her to the floor; her vision swam in and out and dark, blurry spots played in her eyes

Clary gasped, a small, sobbing noise that twisted her throat and choked her words into silence. Her first step forward was hesitant, unstable and uncertain, her body not believing to be true.

He couldn't be here.

It was impossible.

But...he seemed so real.

Real, alive and healthy; he glowed, his eyes alight, his skin burning like the sun above. He wore a simple tunic, woven from Idrisian wool, a wreath of gold leaves nestled in the crown of his curls. His feet were bare, his arms, hard and muscled, relaxed in the soft glow of the sunlight. The hard pitter-patter of the waterfall behind him dulled and it was only them, the two of them against the rest of the world, who sought to tear them apart.

"I-I, how are you here?" Clary struggled for words, grasping for anything as she slowly advanced towards him, steady and ever so cautious. "You-you're in Alicante."

Jace raised an eyebrow, his arms slightly raised, his eyes teasing as he winked at her. "Am I cstrisi?" He looked around, stepping toward her, his strides confident and strong and sure. "Or am I here, with you?"

Clary shook her head, closing her eyes, her head turned. This was a dream, she told herself, this was a dream. She would awaken, conquer Alicante, and kill her brother.

Warm, strong hands touched her arms, rubbing up and down her skin until goosebumps prickled at her skin. She kept her eyes shut, firmly, chanting in her head as angry tears poked at her eyes and she sniffled, her breathing hard and heavy. A hot body, that was far more familiar than her own, lined her own and she sucked in a shuddering breath, her breathing jammed in her throat. "Cstrisi." A voice in her ear, familiar and warm and reassuring, made her shudder. "Open your eyes."

Green met gold and Clary sunk into his embrace, holding him as close as she could, wrapping her arms tight around him so that they could never let go. "No vou sueni," she whispered softly, breathing in his familiar smell of pine and spice and...and home.

"You're home," he told her, muttering into her ear as he held her close, swaying together.

"Of course I am. You're here." She felt him chuckle at that, kissing the top of her head and just like that, everything was right once again.

This was a dream, Clary knew. It wasn't real. Dimly, she recalled the people who awaited her return; Alec, Lucian, Maiea, even her brother, who she knew stood by, patiently waiting for her return. But this, now, being here in the warmth and comfort of his arms, was the only thing she wanted right now. Without his touch, his love, for the past few weeks, this felt like man dying of thirst receiving his first drink of water. So, she settled into his arms and allowed herself to be happy in this wonderful, wonderful moment.

They swayed in silent for a little longer, Clary's feelings bordering on euphoric as she held him closer, hands gripping him, not believing it was real. "Do you know what my father did to court my mother?" Jace suddenly asked her, brushing his lips across her forehead.

Clary smiled up at him, feeling drowsy. "No. You never told me," she murmured, her toes touching his as they danced together, despite the lack of music.

"Well, he tried many, many times. He bought her the best jewels from raids, gave her the best horses, presented her with the finest cloth from the East. But she gave him no heed, and refused his gifts, turning him away."

"He sounds as charming as you are," she teased him as he nipped at the lobe of her ear, making her jump.

"But, when it was when he finally wrote her a song, and poured his heart out to her," he said softly, eyes lost in his past.

"A song?"

"It was very romantic. My mother loved it, and allowed him to court her."

"What was the song?" Jace didn't reply to her but simply kissed her temple, and began to sing in Idrisian, a soft, sweet, simple song that made Clary's eyes well up in tears as his lovely voice filled her ears. With heartbreak ripe in her chest, she listened and only allowed that, forcing her thoughts away and they were only a boy and a girl, in love with each other; and for a slight, sweet, simple second, that was all that really mattered.

The song ended and it was only silence. Clary's eyes drifted shut and she cried into Jace's shirt, gripping him with all the strength that she had, whatever she possessed.

And there was only the trickle of the waterfall and the lull of the fireflies that buzzed in the early nightfall.

A kick in her stomach made her jolt.

Her son, who grew so strong and beautiful in her womb.

Who needed her more than ever.

And this was not her Jace. He looked like him, talked like him, even acted like him; however, this man was not the man she loved. He was locked away, most likely in a dungeon, suffering under her evil, despicable brother she planned to kill painfully, in every way she knew he feared.

With a heavy heart, Clary pushed away and Jace looked down at her, confused, heartbroken. "I-I can't stay here," she said with gritted teeth, forcing her tears away.

Jace still looked confused.

She kissed his cheek in parting, gripping his close once more. "I will find you, my love, and take you home. And Jonathon Morgenstern will finally know what it means to take someone I love away from me," she whispered into his ear, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

Pushing him away, she breathed in a hard, breath, looked at him longingly once more before turning away, her fists clenched at her sides.

 _Don't look back._

 _You won't be able to leave._

She walked, slowly but resolutely, towards the entrance, leaving her little piece of paradise.

 _Don't look back._

And finally, out of the entrance, back into the real world.

* * *

 **I'm super-tired but here are you! My spelling is off, I am very, very sorry? All right, I'm going to sleep for as long as I can.**

 **Please review!**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	40. Chapter 40 (The Beginning Of The End)

**The Cry of The Wild**

 **Chapter 40. The Beginning Of The End**

 **Ahhhhhhh...hey guys! Here's the next chapter! Sorry I haven't posted in a while, I was super busy and on holidays :( but here you are :)**

 **It's literally my longest yet, 7,000 words but it has a lot to it! I was thinking of making it two parts and posting them at the same time so you wouldn't have to wait any more. I might do it because it's been so long :) so enjoy these next two chapters!**

 **Love you all!**

 **...**

 **REMEMBER: 2 PARTS!**

 **...**

 **REMEMBER: 2 PARTS!**

 **...**

 **REMEMBER: 2 PARTS!**

 **...**

 **REMEMBER: 2 PARTS!**

* * *

 **Chapter 40.**

 **-Clary-**

With her thoughts restless and discontented, Clary could do nothing more than watch Alec sharpen his blade as she fiddled with the straps of her sandals. Alec seemed the sort of man who took the effort to focus on one task and one task only, putting much of his focus and energy into his chores. They sat alone in Clary's tent, their silence amicable and comfortable as the world passed them by. "Alec?" Clary broke their silence, lifting her head from her knees, tucking her chin in between her legs.

They had spent the past few days going over their battle plans, setting up a temporary base camp for the troops. Rafael's army mingled with the Idrisian soldiers and Rafael himself had charmed quite a few of the spear maidens themselves. They hid in the forests, going over plans and such until all the generals knew each detail at once. The sewers were virtually unprotected at this time and Jonathon thought they were blocked off but Clary had listened in to her father's plan and knew they were open into the castle. The dwindling roads would be full of Alicanteans but the masked path was perfect coverage of it all. While a small group of men would retrieve Jace from the dungeons (as that was where she suspected he was being kept), the rest would distract Jonathon's men and plunder what they could. This way, no harm would come to the Alicanteans or any innocent bystanders.

He looked up, sweat glistening at his temples, panting slightly from exertion. "Yes, Koningin?" His breaths were slightly uneven, but his gaze steady and his work untroubled from his exertions.

Hesitating, Clary cleared her throat, quite unsure of how she would put her words. "You are my most trusted general and your advice, as usual, is most gratefully received. What chance do you reckon we have of succeeding in this war against my brother?"

Alec contemplated this; Clary, sure that Alec (stubborn, trite, straightforward), would never lie to her in an effort to spare her concerns. With care, he allowed his sword down to it's sheath and sat directly across her in the makeshift seats. "Well, we have a vastly superior force compared to Jonathon's, and the help of Rafael's army we have a sure advantage of numbers. However, it is foreign land and as such, we do not hope to know it's shortcuts or insights as well as your brother. Yes, it is true that with you we have a certain advantage with your knowledge of the land, but Jonathon knows this and you were locked away in your room for most of your adolescence and may have lost your thought for the area."

"So, our chances are good?" She asked in all hopefulness, yet was unwilling to be deceived by a facet of such a venture of foolish desire.

Alec looked at her more carefully and wondered over to her, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he settled down next to her. "Koningin? What is the matter?" He asked her quietly, in his usual collected manner.

"I am scared, Alec," Clary admitted, rubbing her belly with the palm of her hand. Her unborn child had started to kick against her stomach lately and it made her tear up as she realized Jace would not be there to feel it. Though she was not as large as she should be as she had not completely finished her term, she still grew each day and worried constantly over the state of her son.

Alec didn't seem to know what to say but instead patted her arm a little awkwardly, as if

"Thank you, Alec," Clary said with a sort of vulnerability she hadn't heard in herself for quite a while. "For all you have done. For me, for my family. I could never possibly repay you but know you have me in great debt." She touched his arm, softly and he didn't move. "And though you may very well hate me, for what I have done to Magnus and yourself, but know I have come to care for you very much and I-I love you most dearly, like a brother."

Alec seemed taken aback at her declaration seemed uncomfortable with it. The tips of his ears went red and he cleared his throat, averting his gaze. "Ah, I, ah, you're welcome. Jace is much like family to me and you, ah, you have gone to such lengths to bring him home. Thank you for that, as well."

Clary simply nodded, making to stand as she winced a little, her aching back and swollen feet a nuisance more than anything else. She made to exit but then Alec called out to her-

"Clary?" His voice too loud and shrill. He looked down again, avoiding her gaze. "I certainly do not hate you."

She smiled at him and nodded her head in understanding.

"Koningin!" Maiea's voice cried out, sounding panicked. "Koningin, come quickly!" Alec and Clary looked at each other before scrambling from the tent; Alec grabbed his sword and his shield, ready to guard Clary as they exited the tent. Jordaan stood over Maiea, scowling as he scrambled for his sword, eager to protect her as they gathered around Clary. Alec stood in front of her, ready to guard her no matter what.

Clary turned to Maiea. "Maiea, what is the meaning of this? What's going on?" She asked her urgently, tugging at her sleeve.

"The scouts spotted men coming towards the camp. I-I do not recognize their flag. It looks foreign, Koningin and not of the land," she quickly explained, pointing towards the hills. "They carried a white flag and held up a sign."

This was all very strange. "What? A sign? What did it look like?"

"I-It was a sort of strange swirl, with a flower painted through it."

"A flower?" And then it hit her. "WAIT! NO!" Clary bellowed, her voice firm and commanding, unwavering in the face of adversity. "They hold a flag of peace, do not attack them! Staan in hierdie geval! Moenie aanval sonder bevele nie!"

 _(Stand down this instance! Do not attack without orders!)_

Alec turned toward her, confused but his grip did not loosen on his sword. "Koningin-?"

"'N Vlag van oorgawe." Clary was sure to raise her voice, making sure all could hear her. "'N teken vir vrede. Dit doen nie Jónathon nie; Hierdie vlag is in geen geval my familie se. Almal van julle, staan stil."

 _(A flag of surrender. A sign for peace. This is not Jonathon's doing; this flag is by no means my family's. All of you, stand down.)_

A group of soldiers entered the base camp and Clary held out her arm, halting all conflict. They looked nervous, but determined. Clary did not recognize their armor nor their flag but knew it was not Jonathon's doing. The flower flag was an internationally known symbol for peace and to break such an oath was a desecration, an insult to the gods. Perhaps not even Jonathon would dare to break such a promise. "Clary Morgenstern?" One of the guards stepped forward; his posture was stiff and formal as he addressed her yet he looked wary of the thousands of Idrisian men who stared him down.

Clary stepped forward. "Yes? What is it?" She asked him warily, pushing Maiea behind her.

"His Grace has requested to speak with you. He comes to you with the hope of peace and wishes that you would extend him the same courtesy. His Grace will not attack you with any sort of physical force as long as you restrain your own army as well. He has requested that you come to the back gardens of Dales and speak with him there," he stated, clearing his throat.

"His Grace?" Confused, Clary gestured for Lykaios to come to her with a flick of her fingers. He prowled towards her, silently, with all the stealth of a predator.

"Yes. Doraan Desetheon, son of the late Rowan Desetheon of Aelunor." Clary paled as Alec swore under his breath in Idrisian. The Desetheons? Who Jonathon hated with a passion? He had often ranted to her about the men who took the throne from their ancestors. He spat their name with hatred and called them 'parasites' and vowed to kill them all one day. Now the boy king wished to speak with her? She quickly evaluated her options; not speak to him and risk aggravating him into assisting Jonathon or get on his good side and win another ally in the war between brother and sister. Although Jonathon loathed all Desetheons, he was not below gaining a temporary ally to get what he wanted.

She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes. "I will meet with your king under the understanding that he will not side with my brother or attack my people. Only under these terms will I meet with your king."

Alec looked to her, alarmed as he lowered his sword. "Koningin? Is dit wys?"

 _(Is that wise?)_

Clary didn't glance his way but kept her gaze firmly on the uneasy men. "Miskien nie, Alec. Maar ek kan nie Jónathon waag om 'n ander bondgenoot in so 'n oorlog te kry nie," she responded. Doraan's men looked uneasy at her use of Idrisians but simply shifted under the hard gazes of the armed Idrisian warriors.

 _(Maybe not, Alec. But I cannot risk Jonathon gaining another ally in such a war.)_

Still looking wary, Alec sighed in defeat. "Laat my ten minste saam met jou, Clary. So weet ek dat jy veilig sal wees," he protested.

(At least let me come with you, Clary. That way I'll know that you'll be safe.)

"Nee, Alec. Hieroor moet ek aandring. Ek vertrou niemand behalwe jy om my weermag te lei nie en as jy bereid is, moet ek dit van jou vra. Ek vertrou niemand behalwe jou om my man huis toe te bring nie." Clary smiled at him, gently brushing her fingers across his arm.

 _(No, Alec. On this I must insist. I trust no one but you to lead my army and if you are willing, I must request this of you. I trust no one but you to bring my husband home.)_

Alec looked taken aback. "Ek, my Koningin?" He stuttered, blinking.

(Me, my Queen.)

"Natuurlik, Alec. Ek vertrou jou bo alles anders," she said gently, voice low enough so no one could hear them. "And you know what to do. You know all the battle plans and exactly what to do. Bring my husband back. My brother too, but do not kill him. That will be my pleasure."

 _(Of course you, Alec. I trust you above all else.)_

Alec seemed to not know what to say but instead nodded his head, bowing it slightly. "Dankie vir die eer, my Koningin. Dit sou my voorreg wees," he replied hoarsely.

 _(Thank you for the honor, my Queen. It would be my privilege.)_

Clary kissed his cheek, gripping his face fondly. Clary turned to the young girl who held her sleeve. "Maiea, I would like you out of the way of the bloodshed. I want you to come with me, if you want to." Maiea nodded; Clary saw out of the corner of his eye that Jordaan sent her a grateful look. The two of them (Maiea and Jordaan) had become extremely close and the two were seemingly becoming more and more invested in a romantic relationship. Clary noticed that Jordaan ducked down to kiss Maiea on the cheek; Clary smiled as Maiea blushed furiously.

Clary turned to Rafael, face stern. "You will do whatever Alec says. He is in charge while I am gone. Does everyone understand?" He nodded, looking amused but still wary of Desetheon's men.

"Of course, Your Grace. Whatever you say." His toothy smile unnerved her but she still nodded shortly at him, turning to face Desetheon's men, fierce as she always was, as all the Morgensterns were. "Take me to your king."

* * *

The guards led Clary, Maiea and the three armed Idrisian guards to a small, concealed garden. In the garden sat a young boy, an older man and a bald eunuch. The young Doraan Desetheon was just yet a boy; his demeanor was green and young and his manner and air was the youthfulness of summer and the innocence of it as well. Though it was apparent he could be no older than perhaps fourteen, thirteen, his appearance was made to create an air of being much older than he was. With a powdered face, painted eyes and fine, rich clothes, it was with an effort on his part that he was made to appear as an older gentleman. To complete this look, a goblet of rich, dark wine sat in front of him, with all means to made his appear as a young man of consequence and thus, a figure of great importance.

However, no such subtle disguise could be made to configure his true age; Clary's eyes watched with care as his foot tapped the ground in a show of sudden nerves, how he would slightly grimace at the taste of bitter wine, his youth unknown to such delicacies. A boy playing his hand as a man, an act so carefully crafted it almost fooled Clary. She knew too well of playing a part unfitting of her character and for the first time, felt slight pity for the young boy.

He rose to his feet, gliding over to the party. He looked at Clary in awe and took her hand, kissing it delicately. Clary repressed the urge to shiver. "Clarissa Morgenstern. As I live and breathe," he said in an airy voice.

"I understand you are Doraan Desetheon," she replied crisply. "I offer my condolences for the death of your father."

"Thank you, sweet Clarissa," he smiled (too much like a fox) and gestured for her to sit. "Please, take a seat. You and your lovely acquaintance." He eyed Maiea for a few seconds, before turning his attentions to the platter in front of him. "Here, have some Western delicacies and tea. I'm sure you prefer a change from savage food."

Clary gritted her teeth as she struggled to maintain her smile. "I thank you, dear sir. But I rather think we should skip the pleasantries and get straight to business."

"Yes, yes, of course. A discussion is quite prudent as your men fight a war they cannot possibly hope to win. Would you willingly barter their lives in a rather willing trade?" Doraan smiled in a certain way that made Clary feel as if his intentions, however marked carefully as good, were indeed not as pure as he intended.

"A war we could not possibly hope to win? And why is that, good sir? Have you not heard of the Idrisian's great might and their superior strength in the art form of war?" Clary was quick to deflect any sort of inquiry or harsh accusation on her part; the young king seemed too rash, too prone to careless thought, too eager to prove himself more worthy than those who sat in his throne before him. As impatient as Clary was, it seemed entirely unwise to anger this young man who's head and heart was ill-fitting for a king.

"My beautiful, clever girl," Doraan crooned with all the confidence a man could have with the more than necessary protection of ten guards, all roughly about the size of young studs. "Surely you know of your brother's own intelligence, his vastly superior methods of warfare." Good Lord, Clary thought. These pretty, pretty words. These words, all a part of the act he put on. "And you still carry on, which is why you would make me such a great wife."

 _What was that?_

"I cannot marry you," Clary said coolly, while all the while unnerved by his unchallenged confidence. "I am already married."

Doraan seemed unbothered by her comment and simply smiled at her. "Yes, but under their savage rules, not ours. The Angel would hardly be worried about our instance of polygamy if he saw that you were married to a man who worships false idols. And do you think I don't know that your husband has been captured by your brother? I fear your husband may not have long to live and you will soon be widowed."

"There are an endless stream of pretty young women who would love to be the next Queen of your kingdom, sir. I hardly understand your fascination with me, a married woman four or five years your senior," Clary laughed at her own comment, hoping to make him see his own absurdity.

"Surely, Clarissa, you understand your own marital appeal? A beautiful, smart woman with the pleasure of high society and the temperature and understanding of an educated, modern person of similar background and family. And a Fairchild, no less? Our children would be of the First Folk, of their blood. And if it would be so? How could-?"

Clary was quick to interrupt him and she shut him down just as quickly. "My good sir, let me say this once and only once or I shall swear to forever hold my tongue. I intend to carry my child to term and any children I have in the future will be born only to the man who lies captured by my nefarious brother, or my son will forever be cursed as an only child. I have no intention to remarry even if my husband is to be lost to the world, and I will have it known that I would rather be widowed for the rest of my days. Do I make myself quite clear?"

Doraan shrugged, looking entirely displeased with the turn of events. "You seem to forget, sweet Clarissa, that I myself have obtained my own army, nealry ten thousand soldiers. And as their king, I am obliged to command them as I please." His tone, although not unpleasant, was full of malicious intent; his words made Clary's eyes narrowed as she glanced at the look in his eyes.

"Whatever do you mean?" Clary was poised on the edge of her seat, teeth clenched as she regarded the young king.

"Just that you should take care to make alliances that would benefit you, as well as not be hasty when it comes to make enemies. All I say, my dear, is that any possible refusal of my proposal could be met with by force and should I choose your brother-"

"You would betray me, my dear sir, after such a promise was made never to do so?"

"If, and only if, my husband is dead"-Clary choked out the last word but managed to steel her demeanor in the process-"then I will be very much inclined to marry you but I assure you, you will not get such a chance. And this is only if you swear you will never side with my brother in this war or use your army against us in any possible way. After this war, you will lord no further ruling over Alicante or hold claim to it. Never again will you think to conquer our land or dare come near it again. Only under these conditions will I even entertain the possibility of a coupling. Do you understand?" Her voice, in anger and barely concealed rage, had risen and she thought for a brief second she had seen a sliver of fear in his eyes. It was, however, quickly replaced by the usual confidence that ruled him as it had always done.

He mocked her, bowing as he stood, gesturing her towards the door. "Perhaps the war is won. Perhaps it is over by now." He smiled grotesquely, and Clary fought the urge to slit his pretty throat with her dagger. "I look forward to meeting you once again, my dear. Please, make haste and leave for your own well-being."

Humph! Clary gnashed her teeth as she gathered her skirts, getting a hand from Maiea as they stood; the Idrisian soldiers followed her as she marched from the gardens and she hurried away. She was quite glad to be rid of such a boy and hoped she would never see him again.

Was he quite serious in his wishes to marry her? She could not see even the barest amount of humor in his eyes; in seriousness, she rather regarded that he was being quite truthful. Very well, she thought vapidly, he may have his pretty promises but she had no intention whatsoever to marry him. She would run far and wide from his grasp if worst should come to worst.

But what if it did indeed come to it?

* * *

 **No Jace yet! But soon...**

 **I promise...**

 **Please read and review, as always, I love all of your opinions.**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


	41. Chapter 41 (Goodbye My Lover, Goodbye M)

**The Cry of the Wild**

 **Chapter 41. Goodbye My Lover, Goodbye My Friend**

 **Here's the second part continued in another chapter because the first was so big! Seriously, 7,000 words! What?**

 **Anyways, here it is!**

 **Love you all and because I do, here's another chapter in the same day!**

* * *

Chapter 41.

-Clary-

Clary, Maiea and the group of soldiers returned to base camp, where a few soldiers still roamed, weapons ready as everyone waited in tense silence. Peering around the area, Clary couldn't see Alec at all and realized (with a broken heart) he had done exactly what she had told him so. He had led her army into battle and could very well die in such a process. How could she ever explain such a thing to Isabelle, who held her so warmly after she left? Who kissed her cheeks and told her she loved her as a sister? Her daughter could never again meet with her uncle or he with her.

She ignored the hard feeling in her chest and instead went to the next commander in charge, quickly demanding his attention as he marched over to her. "Koningin!" He called out as they met each other.

"Wat gaan aan? Wat gebeur, algemeen? Is daar enige teken van oorwinning?" She quickly asked him as they settled down at the table, Clary seating herself quite uncomfortably due to her size. Maiea was quick to draw her a glass and water and send her an encouraging smile. With each day, the young girl was becoming more and more confident, out-going and daring as she asserted her position as Clary's trusted handmaiden and adviser.

 _(What's going on? What's happening, general? Is there any sign of victory?)_

"Broer Alec het onlangs die mans in die geveg gelei, met jou planne, my Koningin. Ons het nog lank geen nuus van hulle gehad nie, maar verwag binnekort 'n oorwinning. Ek is baie seker daarvan," he replied quickly, eagerly, searching for Clary's approval.

 _(Brother Alec just recently led the men into battle, using your plans, my Queen. We have had no news from them in quite a while, but expect a victory anytime soon. I am quite certain of it.)_

"Hmm." Clary had nothing else to say.

Another man stepped forward, looking disheveled as he addressed her. "Koningin? Daar is berigte dat groepe van jou broer se mans rondes in die bos maak. Miskien sal dit veiliger wees as jy van hierdie gebied verwyder word," he suggested.

 _(There are reports that groups of your brother's men are making rounds in the forest. Perhaps it would be safer if you were removed from this area.)_

Clary nodded, drawing Maiea to her. "Baie goed. Maiea en ek sal wegsteek in die grootste deel van die bos.

 _(Very well. Maiea and I will hide out in the greater part of the forest.)_

He looked alarmed. "My Koningin, as die mans jou sou vind-" he started, but was cut off quite quickly.

 _(My Queen, if the men were to find you-)_

A sudden burst of noise and panicked shouts filled the area; Clary whipped her head around in alarm, seeing a group of men advancing. Jonathon's men. They were all armed to teeth, each wielding weapons as they descended on the Idrisian people, who immediately retaliated with their own swords and spears. "Find the girl! Get the Barbaiarn Queen!" They yelled at one each other, eyes searching for her distinct red hair which stood out so fiercely against the tide of black and brown.

"My Queen, we must go!" Maiea whispered in her ear, tugging at her sleeve. "Our men will take care of them, but you are with child!"

"Yes! Yes! Lykaios!" Clary called for him and he bounded forward, teeth bared as he growled at the unwelcome visitors. "No time for that, we must leave!" Callisto was tied up quite close to them so she grabbed her reins, hurrying her along as she whinnied in protest at being taken from her trowel of food.

The four of them slipped away in the mad fumble of the chaos, running as Maiea made sure that she held up the pregnant queen. They were quite deep in the forest when they stopped, both panting as they stopped. Lykaios padded around them, tail swishing as he growled at ground, huffing and puffing.

Maiea and Clary smiled at each other, briefly happy to be out of danger. But it was then that Lykaios growled, his teeth bared in warning as the leaves around them rustled and shook themselves in a frenzy. Although she saw nothing, her nerves trembled as her breathing shallowed and her heart beat so violently in her chest. Her hand reached for her dagger, Jace's dagger, and she drew him close to her (in not in her presence but rather her spirit). Maiea clutched at her arm, her own breathing heavy as she nervously watched the trees.

Then, suddenly, a small group of Idrisian soldiers burst into the clearly, holding up a man that Clary did not recognize. Jordaan was amongst them and Clary saw Maiea let out a cry as she rushed towards him, arms flung around his neck as he looked at her in surprise but hugged her back. Immediately spotting her, they ran towards her, clamoring for her attention as they dragged the man (who looked half-dead) along with them. The man's clothes were tattered and torn, bloodied and ripped to the point where they only covered his intimates. His hair mattered, clumped with dirt and blood and other such fifty things, it rather looked if he had been held captive in a dungeon for the past month-

Golden eyes met her's as his head lifted and all became good and well again as she cried out his name in instant recognition.

"Jace!" Clary cried out, reaching for him. "Jace, Jace, Jace!" Could it be? After these long months of mourning and yearning and hoping? Could it truly be him? It was a ruse, she wondered dimly, a trick, a ploy, employed by the gods themselves to punish her and her follies. But then, her arms came to wrap him tight around herself and she felt him breathe (albeit however harsh and uneven) and she knew nothing of follies but rather of him, and only him. "Oh, my love," she whispered to him and he clung, rather fiercely despite his own weak condition, to her as she kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, anywhere she could reach. "You've come back to me."

He swallowed, looking pained but still managed to smile at her with with familiar boyish grin that made her heart ache. "I always promised that I would, cstrisi. Did I not?" He said hoarsely into her ear as she struggled to hold him up; the soldiers made to help and they settled him so he was comfortably sitting. Clary, however, refused to let him go as she clutched him as tightly as he could. His hands, rough and familiar but so tender with her, found her stomach and he softly rubbed the swell of her belly with great love and affection. "Oh, I have missed you, my love. And you," he kissed her stomach and Clary watched on, tears in her eyes, "my son. How you have grown in the past month." His eyes grew sad and somber. "And how much I have missed."

Clary opened her mouth but was interrupted at a keening sound as Lykaios bounded forward, licking at Jace's face and nuzzling his neck. Clary gaped at the sight, amazed at how the wolf treated the man he had once considered a foe. Jace too seemed surprised at the wolf's reaction but still scratched at his chin while Lykaios panted in pleasure.

They smiled at each other once again, the world around them forgotten.

"Where did the savages go? I saw them just a second ago," a sudden voice broke their secure bubble and all members of the party froze, not daring to make even the slightest of sounds.

 _Jonathon's soldiers._

Clary held Jace tighter to her and prayed to whatever gods could hear her.

"They had their king with them as well. I saw them break him out of the tower with the help of that old woman," another voice joined them. Clary's mind ran wild; the help of an old woman? Who could it be?

"Yeah, but she'll probably die after for it. We have to find the King or else His Grace will have our heads. Look, I'll lead half that way and you lead the other half in that direction. If you find the king or the queen, you bring them back to His Grace, alright?"

"We must leave here, immediately," Clary whispered to herself. She looked at Jace, who looked weakened and half-starved and so bloodied it was hard to recognize him. Anger stirred in her stomach but she pushed it down.

 _Later._

Jordaan too looked injured and struggled to stand straight as he was held up by Maiea's tiny body. Clary struggled for an answer but did not find one. The youngest soldier looked at her. "My Koningin, ons sal hulle so lank as moontlik stalletjie. Jy en die koning moet ontsnap. Kom so ver weg van hier as moontlik," he said determinedly.

 _(My Queen, we will stall them as long as possible. You and the King should escape. Get as far away from here as possible.)_

Clary was taken aback at his outburst but didn't know what to say but hoped her expression betrayed her. "Dankie. U sal vir u dapperheid geprys word."

 _(Thank you. You will be commended for your bravery.)_

Clary turned to Maiea, who looked fiercely at her, challenging her. "I am staying with Jordaan," she declared, as if daring her to object.

"Baie goed. Die wagte sal hom aflei. Lykaios, die Koning, Callisto en ek sal wegkruip in die verre dal. Verstaan almal," she whispered.

 _(Very well. The guards will distract him. Lykaios, the Koning, Callisto and I will hide out in the far valley. Does everyone understand?)_

They nodded; the party disbanded and scattered, going their separate ways. Perhaps for the last time.

* * *

Clary dragged Jace into a clearing with the help of Lykaios. She carefully lowered him to the ground, kissing his forehead as she propped him up against a heavy rock. "I-I need to get some healing herbs to fix you up, alright? Don't move or try to get up, okay?" She said sternly to him, stroking back his hair which felt achingly familiar against her fingers. She kissed his forehead, closing her eyes and savoring the feel of his skin against her's.

He groaned, still managing to keep his smile. "I cannot exactly move after being chained up to a wall for a month, cstrisi. But I'll try for you," he chuckled, making her scowl at him.

She kissed him again, looking at Lyakios. "Guard," she said, stroking his muzzle. "Don't let anything happen to him," she told him, before rushing off to collect her herbs and a carton of water. She hurried quickly, scooping up some water from a nearby stream and uprooting several herbs she recognized from Isabelle's healing course. But then she recognized the sound of Lykaios making a loud whining sound and Callisto screeching. She bolted upright, eyes widening in fear as she dropped everything and ran towards the sound, heart beating in her chest.

Lykaios was the biggest animal she had ever seen; what could challenge him?

But then she saw what was before her?

A young man, dagger poised so carefully over Jace's throat all the while holding him up, made Clary stop in her tracks. What could Jace do but lay in his arms, unmoving and motionless? For even struggle could bring him harm and he was unwilling to leave his wife and unborn child in the company of such a fastidious man. And such a time in Jonathon's _'care'_ had rendered his solid and firm build weak and limp. For even if he wished to kill the man who held him so firmly (both in body and soul), the last month or so had drained him of his power, his unmatched strength lost to him as his wife had previously been. Clary was sure that had he had his original strength, he would have found cause to rip the man apart, limb by limb until he was nothing but a pile of legs and arms and other parts.

Lykaios lay at their feet, unmoving, unbreathing. He did not even twitch, or wiggle, or shake his paws. Clary gaped at him, feeling close to tears. The man followed her gaze and smirked down at the wolf. "Some berries, you see, can act as a very strong anesthesia. Though it might not kill him, what with his massive size, it will be enough to keep him under for a few hours. Or, he could be dead. We might never know. But as soon as I coated them in turkey grease, he went straight for them. He might be your loyal mutt, but he's still an animal. A beast. It was easy. Almost too easy."

Too the man's left was an image almost too horrifying to comprehend. Callisto, dead! Her throat slit open, body slumped on her side, eyes wide and glassy. Clary sobbed silently at the death of her most treasured companion, who had become her constant over the past months.

No, she thought. It could not be. Callisto, dead?

 _You mustn't get caught up on it,_ Clary thought to herself. _Focus on the present, mourn in the future. Time to grieve later on._

"Horses are much easier to kill than wolves, I've realized. They don't fight back as much because they're so used to people. Or so I think. And it would have made it much easier to get away for you and I must never make it too easy for you. What about you, Clarissa, my dear?"

"Sebastian." Clary's voice gave away nothing as she stared at the Western King, square in the eyes, her stance strong and kept. His smile was all courtesy and easy grace, charming, as dashing as a fine gentleman could possibly be. His knife remained at Jace's throat, the blade pressed against the delicate stretch of skin. "What on earth do you think you're doing?" Although every instinct in her body screamed to kill this man immediately and wrench her most beloved husband far from his grasp, it was her rationale that kept her grounded, as it had in most instances.

It felt rather like she was in a dream; it was as if looking in to something bizarre, entirely strange. As if this entire scenario was a fraught, villainous falsehood which sought to rob her of all her senses.

But she did not dare move a inch, quiver her still muscles or even think to provoke the man who held a knife up to the love of her life. Her eyes never strayed from her husband, who lay limply in his grasp, not moving even a muscle as he held his breath.

"My dear, sweet Clarissa." His smile, as much as the sweetness in his words, unnerved her and she forced herself to remain still, as to not further provoke him. "How very well you look." Eyes, dark and wondering and penetrating (to a point where Clary shivered at the feel of them on her person) looked to her. They traveled downward and strayed on her swollen stomach for a few beats of a moment. "And I must say how well pregnancy seems to suit you."

The past few hours had been all but a strain on her nerves; she was tired and scared and all her feelings had been stretched too thin. She was in no mood at all for his mind games and had no intention to entertain him as such. "Sebastian, surely you see that this scheme is fruitless in your endeavors. The war is all but won and if you think I will allow you to take my husband from me once more, you are more the fool," she warned him most severely, enunciating her anger through the tone of her voice.

"I am simply claiming what is mine, Clarissa. You see it is quite simple. Your brother promised me you if I allowed him to use his army. I, however, have not yet obtained you and so it is under my right to do as such," he explained this as if it were all so simple.

"I belong to nobody and if you are inclined to believe that even for a second that you own me, you are very much mistaken, sir. Now let go of my husband before I kill you."

"I don't think you understand, sweet Clarissa. I don't have any intention of letting you go. You WILL marry me and once your bastard son is born, I will kill him. You will willingly, and with great happiness, bear my children with all the grace and civility of a queen. Understand?"

"Ha!" Clary snorted, ignoring the pound of her heart. "You would wish as such, sir, but it will not happen, let me swear it on the gods."

"Either way, Clarissa, this war will be won by you or your brother but I do not care for as long as I have you, it matters not. And I will have you, whatever it takes."

And then, with a dramatic inclination of his hand, he swooped down and plunged the dagger square into Jace's stomach and with effort, pulled it out once again.

Clary watched with a horrified fascination; she rather felt detached as she watched it, as if she were on onlooker, a soul possessing another. With nothing but a dim recognition that it was happening, she watched blood spurt from the wound, Jace's eyes grow wide and distraught. She registered a noise, a horribly wailing sound that broke her heart as she realized that that sound came from her. Like a glass vase being dropped to the ground, Jace stumbled from Sebastian's grip after it was loosened and fell, doubling over.

The next few seconds happened quickly, far too quickly for anyone to process them; Clary, acting entirely on instinct, reached for her trusty dagger that hang by her hip. The hilt in her palm, unfeeling, unknowing, she aimed it at the murderer's head and flung it, hard and true. It sailed through the air for one, two seconds before it nailed Sebastian right between the eyes as he staggered backward, hands failing as his mind worked furiously to comprehend what had just occurred.

But Clary was already rushing over to her husband's side, howling in pain; he panted and panted, much like a dying dog and she wept and wept, tears falling fast and thick. With effort, she dragged his head into her lap and went to work, pressing her hands firmly against his wound, begging him to stay awake, for if she couldn't heal him, who could?

"Jace," she tried his name, to draw him back. He moaned, eyes fighting to stay open as he stared at her in awe, looking amazed. "Jace, please, just stay awake, alright? I'm going to heal you, so you must stay awake. Do you understand me, nou sunei?"

He said nothing in reply but grunted in pain, his gaze so steadily trained on her that she doubted not even the heavens could dare redirect it. "Clar-" He started weakly, but coughed so violently that Clary whimpered at the sound of it.

"Alec!" Clary screamed at the sky, tears blurring her vision of grasping at his wound (blood, red and bright stained her tiny hands and she winced) as she yelled as loudly as she could. "Alec, please, wherever you are! Help!" Her voice was the only thing she heard; the forest was silent and not even the wind dared make any sound nor the leaves or the trees. "Maiea! Maiea! Jordaan! Alec?" It was more a desperate question now than anything else.

Still, silence.

Clary tore his shirt down the middle, making quick work of her deft fingers as she examined the stab wound. "Alright," she murmured under her breath. "Alright, alright. This doesn't look so bad. W-we just need to c-clean it up." Her tears blurred her vision and she gasped in her agony, pressing down harder and harder until he grunted in pain.

His fingertips (oh! so coarse and familiar to her touch and known far too little) touched her cheek, shaking with effort as they drew a path down the slope of her face and she cried, cried and did nothing less than that. "My sweet, sweet Jace, you cannot leave me so soon. Not when our story is so far from complete," she whispered to him, hoping her words could heal him so he would not go and leave her behind in the cruel, cruel world.

He tried to say something to her and in a fit of panic, she listened in earnest. She held him tighter and tighter, sobbing as he gurgled in her ear, blood spilling from his mouth, his stomach and yet, he was still so beautiful, even when he was dying. "Dammit Jace, you promised me. You said you would never leave me. You promised, Jace, you promised. Please, please, please, don't leave me. I cannot bear to think of a world without you in it. How could I go on, if you are not there with me? You said itself, we are not to be apart, even in death and life."

He swallowed, unable to say anything else and she felt his grip loosen and his breathing go very light and fluttery.

Clary could not nothing else but watch in horror; every bone, every muscle, every nerve felt paralyzed but she still cried, screaming out for her lover and her husband and the father of her child. "No," she said softly at first but it built up. "No. No, no, no. Jace. Jace, please!"

But there wasn't anything she could do.

Not even her touch could heal him as he claimed it could before.

Not from something like this.

Then, finally, in a terrifying, deafening silent end to the whole narrative, the light dimmed from his eyes and his soul, the very matter of his life, was sucked from his body as if Death himself had kissed his pale lips. The curtain fell in one heavy swoop across the stage as he exhaled shakily, his final breath sealing his fate as the gods took him from her in an act of malice and cruelty.

And she, all alone in the world, clutched his body as his eyes fluttered shut and his body grew cold in her arms.

 _Dead, dead, dead._

Her father's eyes, her mother's and no finally, her husband's.

* * *

 **Please don't hate me!**

 **There's much more to it, I promise!**

 **I won't spoil anything but keep reading on!**

 **Read and review! Give me your angst :)**

 **-happinesstrapxx**


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